I'll Get By
by GoingVintage
Summary: When WWII starts, Rachel, Puck, Sam, and Quinn's lives all change in an instant.  Love, loss, heartbreak, and hope await as the men go off to war and leave the women behind.  Puckleberry story with Samchel and Quick to start. AU. 3/19/11 - COMPLETE.
1. Prologue  December 7, 1941

**Author's Note**: So here's my third World War II Puckleberry fic. As you will see, it starts out as Samchel and Quick. But have some faith because Puckleberry is the only thing I ship! And yes, this is short but it's just the prologue. The remaining chapters will be much longer.

**

* * *

Prologue: December 7, 1941**

The war that was raging in the rest of the world arrived at their tiny row house on Long Island in the middle of a calm Sunday afternoon. In between plating a serving of parsnips and freshly baked bread, 22-year-old Rachel Evans was shocked into silence as the radio announcer cut into weekly broadcast of the New York Philharmonic and blared forth news that changed everything_._

…_ We interrupt this broadcast to bring you this important bulletin from the United Press. Flash: Washington. The White House announces Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor…_

Rachel stared at the radio in disbelief, her eyes focusing on the orange tube that cast a faint glow on the dark shelf below. As the announcer continued, her brown eyes widened before she blinked rapidly. The words pouring from the speakers were foreign to her. _Death toll. Wounded. Ships destroyed. _

"Sam!" Rachel called to her husband, her voice rising in panic with every word. "Sam! You have to come here right this instant!"

Rachel heard shuffling in the next room before her handsome, blond husband appeared by her side, worry lacing his voice as he asked, "What's wrong?"

Pointing silently at the radio, Sam read the concern in Rachel's eyes and froze, his ears tuned to the broadcast. His posture tensed as the announcer went into more detail and Sam slipped his hands into his pockets and leaned against the kitchen cabinets, his eyes never leaving the small radio. After a few minutes of silently listening, his mouth popped open and he turned toward his wife. "We're at war, Rachel," he said softly.

"I know," Rachel nodded solemnly, "I know."

* * *

Two days later, President Roosevelt's radio broadcast changed the course of an entire generation with the simple words that the US had declared war on Japan and Germany. Rachel and Sam sat on the davenport, their fingers linked, as their dear friend Noah Puckerman sat in a chair next to his sweetheart, Quinn Fabray. After the President's broadcast was over, Rachel busied herself in the kitchen, slicing a coffee cake into meticulously neat pieces while nervousness raged its own war inside her. The air inside the house crackled with tension and it made Rachel's neck stiff and achy. Next to her, Quinn stoically prepared to brew a pot of fresh coffee while jumping at even the slightest of noises.

After Sam and Puck tromped through the kitchen, the back door clanked shut and Quinn jerked back from the counter like a frightened cat, sloshing coffee grounds all over the floor before shooting an apologetic glance at Rachel. Quinn bent to clean up the mess while Rachel watched Sam and Noah step out onto the grass, her gut coiling in the kind of fear that was hard to identify. She had no idea what to fear, really. For all she knew, they were discussing football or some other meaningless topic. But when Sam's shoulders slumped and Noah's brow furrowed deeply, Rachel knew they were talking about the President's broadcast.

She stood at the kitchen sink for the longest time, her eyes on the men in the yard. Their discussion became animated, both of them pacing and waving their arms at separate intervals. At one point, she was able to read Noah's lips. "Hitler," he'd clearly said. Rachel scowled and cast another concerned glance at Quinn. War was a foreign concept to her. Sure, she was well aware of what was going on over in England and France because the radio was almost always on in the Evans' household. But as to what the war actually entailed, she couldn't fathom. Her father had fought back in the Great War and she'd lost an uncle somewhere in Europe but no one in the Berry family ever spoke of it. War was, Rachel had always assumed, something that would never affect her. But as she watched her husband and his best friend talk in their miniscule backyard that was still piled with snow, the scowls on their faces told Rachel that not only had the war come to her country but it had arrived on her doorstep. Minutes later, after the two men had nodded their heads and smacked each other cordially on the back, the door opened again and Sam appeared thin-lipped while Noah's eyes were downcast. Their nervous postures said more than words ever could and tears formed in the corner of Rachel's eyes.

Her suspicions were confirmed an hour later, not long after they'd bid their friends goodbye and settled into the bedroom for the night. "You know I have to go, don't you, Rachel?" Sam asked, his eyes on his wife as she slipped her soft nightgown over her head.

Rachel's gut clenched with the burning fear of the unknown and her eyes clouded with tears again. "But why, Sam? What will going to war solve? Why? And why so soon? It's only just begun!"

Sam pushed himself off the bed and pulled Rachel into his arms. "We'll be drafted anyway, Rach. If we volunteer, we'll probably end up with a better unit and we'll get our choice of where to serve."

Eyes wide and dark with frustration, Rachel pushed herself out of Sam's arms and asked, "We? _We_, Sam?"

"Puck and me, of course," Sam clarified. "He's my best friend. We're enlisting together."

Rachel gulped, her throat clogging with fear and words she couldn't even begin to identify and wrap her tongue around, and she nodded. When hot tears began sliding down her cheeks, Sam gathered her into his arms again and kissed her forehead. "I'll be okay. We both will. But we have to go, Rachel. We can't let those bastards get away with this."

No amount of reassurance could calm the bubbling fear and wracking sobs that shook her. Even before he'd even enlisted, worry settled inside Rachel's bones and clutched at her. He was going to war and he wouldn't be okay. She knew it. As sure as she knew the sun would rise tomorrow and that her heart would break to tell her husband of less than a year goodbye, she just _knew. _Nothing would ever be okay again.

* * *

**Next**: A bit of Puck's perspective as the men head off to war, Rachel gets some news, and the men endure training and deployment.


	2. Early 1942

**Author's Note**: I swear this is an eventual Puckleberry story.

**

* * *

Mid-February, 1942**

Leave it to a bunch of crazy assholes like Hitler, Hirohito, and Mussolini to be the reason that Noah Puckerman finally got the hell out of New York. Born and raised on Long Island, he'd never been more than 150 miles from his home. And at 24-years-old, Noah had already decided that there was more to life than the interior of the taxi cab he'd been driving for the past three years. He hated the traffic and despised the job but he had a mother and a younger sister to support since his dad had packed his bag, pushed his bowl hat down over his ears, and had walked out without so much as a second glance back in 1933. So every morning, before the sun could even rise, he'd be in his cab, ready to escort the suits and classy working dames from one spot in Manhattan to another for a few meager coins.

It was when he'd get a tourist in his cab, people from as far away as Illinois or even California, that made Noah long to get out of town and see more of America. He'd listen to them talk, their silly accents causing him to mask his snickers from the front seat, and quietly wish that he could head out and explore the country, too. He never thought he'd get to go anywhere but apparently, history wanted more out of him than he'd realized so before he could even second-guess himself, he and Sam entered the recruiting office just four days after the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.

Two hours later, he and his friend emerged as recruits for the United States Army. And now, a mere six weeks later, his small bag was packed and he stood on a bustling train platform inside Grand Central Station waiting to catch a train to Fort Knox, Kentucky, to begin basic training. A few feet away, Sam was talking quietly to a teary-eyed Rachel.

"You're going to write, right?" Quinn prodded, her fingers gripping Noah's a little tighter as she waited for his answer.

"Yeah, doll, I'll write," he promised before dipping his head so that he could talk low in her ear. "I'll write as much as I can. And I'll think about you all the time."

He watched as Quinn's eyes filled with tears. Before she could even eke out a sob, she threw her arms around his shoulders and buried her face in his neck. He dropped his bag so that he could hold her tightly and when he looked over at the Evans', they were in nearly the same embrace.

Noah pressed his lips against Quinn's forehead and closed his eyes. "I'll be fine," he assured her. "I promise."

"You'll come home, right?" she asked a minute later, once she'd been able to get control of her emotions enough to speak. "You'll come back to me?"

Noah smiled, his chest tight. "Yeah, I'll come back to you. Besides, we still have a lot of courting left to do. I'm not ready to give that up."

Quinn nodded and hugged him again, a fresh round of tears leaking from her eyes. Noah sighed and tugged her closer, letting himself get lost in her embrace. He'd only been seeing her since Rachel and Sam's wedding ten months ago and while he couldn't say he loved her, he liked her a lot.

Eyeing his friends carefully, Puck thought about how Quinn had come into his life. The entire romance between Sam and Rachel had happened so fast that nobody was even sure where it had come from. Rachel was trying to break into the Broadway business and while she went on auditions, she'd been holding down a job as a secretary for a law firm. It was there that she met the new mail room manager, Sam. He and Rachel began dating nearly immediately and less than six months later, they were married.

Noah still remembered the day he told his mother about Rachel's engagement. Miriam Puckerman had never given up the hope that her son would marry a wonderful Jewish girl like Rachel Berry (or more specifically, that he would marry the _actual_ Rachel Berry and save himself from a cheaper imitation.) Noah would never admit to anyone but himself that he'd thought about it once or twice. Marrying Rachel hadn't seemed like a bad idea. Rachel was a looker, that was for sure. She had a small, compact body with curves in the right places and one hell of a set of gams. Her long, brown hair tumbled down her back when it wasn't styled into one of those complicated, professional styles she wore to the office. And her big brown eyes, he swore, could see right into his soul and pick out every lie that left his lips. But he and Rachel had grown up together and most of the time, Noah was sure Rachel felt like he was the big brother she'd never had even if he didn't feel the same. They argued and fought and he picked on her but they always made up. They shared a love of music and because the Jewish community in their neighborhood was small, they stuck together. When Rachel had so quickly agreed to marry Sam, Noah had been a little shocked. He wasn't prepared to share her yet. She hadn't dated much and, despite the fact that he usually found a rotating supply of broads to hang off one arm, Rachel was the only constant girl in his life. But the first time he saw the ring on her finger and she beamed up at him with the hope of a bright future shining in her eyes, he pushed away his unrequited feelings and hugged her, wishing her well. His mother, though, protested in horror that such a beautiful Jewish girl was marrying a blond Gentile who couldn't possibly deserve her. Noah just shrugged and ignored his mother's lamenting because Sam was a great guy and ever since Rachel had introduced them, they'd become nearly as close as brothers. There was nothing he could do about it, anyway. Rachel simply didn't have an eye for him. Even though there was twinges of regret that kept popping back up, Noah ignored them and focused on finding a new dame to court. And at the wedding, Rachel had gone out of her way to introduce Noah to Sam's beautiful cousin, Quinn Fabray.

Quinn, Noah admitted, was the complete opposite of Rachel. When Rachel was loud, Quinn was reserved. Blond and hazel-eyed, Quinn's beauty was unrivaled. She lived a few neighborhoods over and Noah had wondered how he'd never seen her before because she was stunning enough that if he had, he'd sure as hell _remember_. The attraction had been mutual and Noah and Quinn had begun steadily seeing one another since the wedding. In the months since, they'd grown quite a bit. Together, the spent a lot of time at Sam and Rachel's and the four of them had developed quite a camaraderie.

"Puck," Sam said, interrupting Noah's thoughts, "we gotta get going."

Unlocking Quinn's arms from the vice-like grip she had around him, Noah bent and kissed the tip of her nose before taking her mouth in a lingering kiss. When they parted, Quinn forced out a sob and wrapped her arms around Rachel, who stood silently by, her eyes wide and emotional.

"Stay safe, boys," Rachel whispered to the both of them.

Noah and Sam locked eyes and then they both nodded at her. As Sam pulled Rachel into a final goodbye kiss, Noah turned his gaze away and glanced down at the floor. Swallowing any emotion he might have felt about the brunette, he instead glanced up at Quinn. She smiled sadly at him and blew him a kiss before he spun on his heel, hiked his bag over his shoulder, and headed off towards the train with Sam lagging behind. It was time to go.

…

Rachel's eyes never left the retreating figures of Sam and Noah until she could no longer discern them in the crowd of men boarding the train. Quinn slipped beside Rachel, linking their arms, and she softly asked, "There's no turning back now, is there?"

"No," Rachel answered shortly, her back bristling. "There's nothing we can do now but wait and write letters and hope and pray for their safety."

Quinn nodded silently and together, the women stared at the train. "They'll take care of one another, won't they?"

Rachel emphatically answered, "Yes, of course. They'll certainly be there to support one another. And they'll keep each other safe. It's good that they're going together. It is." Once she finished speaking, Rachel swallowed hard and forced a deep wash of air into her lungs. Nausea sluiced over her but she fought it hard. She couldn't give in to weakness. Not now. She _had_ to be strong for her husband.

When the train began to move, Quinn gripped Rachel's arm tighter. Once it moved out of the station and off into the deep tunnel that would eventually lead it above ground and outside of Manhattan, both women seemed to slump. They leaned against each other and Rachel looked around, noticing for the first time that they were surrounded by women and families just like them. Friends gripping the hands of other friends. Mothers holding the hands of their children. Fathers standing stiffly with arms comforting their weeping wives. And all of them were watching the train carry their loved ones off first to training and then to war.

"Come on, Quinn," Rachel urged after she'd gained composure of herself. "Let's get back home."

Without another word, Rachel and Quinn made their way to the train that would take them back to Long Island.

* * *

Rachel and Sam's house was incredibly quiet without him there, Rachel soon realized. The first night after Sam left was nearly torture. Rachel and Quinn parted ways once they arrived back in their neighborhood and then Rachel walked the seven blocks from the train station to her house with nothing but her thoughts to keep her company. She stayed composed, nodding and smiling at familiar faces as she walked past the tiny row homes that all closely resembled one another. Most of the neighbors, though, eyed her with sympathy and smiled sweetly at her. They all knew that Sam had just left to go to war; word in their neighborhood travelled quite fast. But the sympathy made her indignant and by the time she made it to her front porch, Rachel was spitting mad. Who _were _they to coddle her? She was a strong woman. She would survive while her husband was away. And her husband _would be_ coming home.

When Rachel unlocked the door and let herself inside the house, she shivered as the cold swirled around her. _Stupid furnace,_ Rachel thought. Two days ago, when the furnace had been on the fritz again, Sam took Rachel down into the narrow basement and showed her exactly the way he tapped at it with a wrench to get it working again because he knew once he was gone, she'd need to know. Slipping off her dress shoes and into a pair of sensible work shoes, Rachel tied an apron around her waist and then tromped down into the dank basement to give the furnace a proper whack. When it kicked on, she "hmphed" at it triumphantly. "I can do this," she told the now-purring furnace with a smile. "You won't beat me. I'm a thoroughly capable woman." Dropping the wrench back into its storage bin, Rachel spun on her heel and marched back up the stairs to handle the rest of her daily tasks.

But later that night, after the sun had gone down and the sound of Sam's laughter was missing from the living room, Rachel cracked. Glancing over at the top of their big radio where their wedding photo sat in a gilded frame, Rachel smiled. From the moment Rachel met Sam Evans, she knew that he regarded her differently. Having spent most of her life voicing her opinions about everything at every possible moment, Rachel had grown up with few friends. Her personality had naturally pushed people away, despite the many ways she often tried to draw them closer. And boys _certainly_ never looked in her direction. She'd always assumed it was her loud mouth and her overly defined nose that repelled them. Sam, though, told her that she was "classically beautiful" and treated her like a treasure. Other than Noah, who treated her in much the same way that he did his younger sister, Rachel hadn't had the opportunity to welcome much male attention over the years. Sam swept her off her feet, taking her dancing and to Broadway shows and giving her the type of cultural existence that she so deeply craved. And when he proposed, she ignored the small hesitation that burned deep inside of her and said yes. He loved her, she knew, and she was growing to love him more and more with each passing day. So she'd said yes happily and began to prepare for a life with him. What she hadn't expected was for it to change so completely and with such rapidity less than a year later.

With the smile of memories still on her face, Rachel dropped down into Sam's favorite chair, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply through her nose. When she did, the smell of his shaving soap that still clung to the chair wafted toward her and her eyes prickled with tears as the smile slid from her face. Giving into the pain of missing him already, she allowed herself to weep. Knowing that it would be nearly impossible to sleep in their bedroom with the scent of him everywhere, Rachel opted instead to grab a duvet and curl up on the davenport. From there, she could gaze on their wedding photo that was illuminated by the light that came through the gap in the curtains. As she fell asleep she told herself that she'd adapt. She knew she would. Just not yet.

…

The next few days, Rachel discovered, were easier than the first. Not quite used to living without her talkative husband, she kept the radio on constantly and louder than normal, letting the voices from the broadcasters and radio actors fill the void where Sam's voice once was. Moving from the kitchen to the sitting room to the bedroom at night, one of three radios was tuned to NBC at nearly all times. The first night she finally spent in the bed alone, though, sent all her progress sliding away. Her hand crept across the bed to Sam's side, now empty and cold, and it moved Rachel to tears that only abated once she'd fallen into an exhausted sleep. On the fourth night, Rachel left the radio on and pulled the covers over her head. The low murmur of the voices and music helped take her mind off the fact that she missed Sam so very much. No, she certainly wouldn't hear news of the boys in basic training way down in Kentucky but the news that came in kept her connected to the war effort. Rachel was as educated as she could be about such matters and, within just five days of Sam's departure, Rachel had a world map spread out on the kitchen table. She intended to plot Sam and Noah's course as they moved throughout the world as much as she could.

Nearly a week after Sam left, Rachel finally felt like resuming as much of her pre-war life as possible. So after arriving home from work, she walked the three streets separated her from her parents' house to have dinner with her father and mother.

Dinners with her parents, Walter and Shelby Berry, were usually spent catching up on all the news of the neighborhood. The conversations recently, though, had all been focused on the war. Rachel found herself paying much more attention to her father as he explained what was happening in England. While he spoke, Shelby kept her gaze carefully on her daughter. The scrutiny drove Rachel to drop her fork and balk at her mother. "I'm fine, Mother, I promise! I'm adjusting as well as can be expected." Rachel glanced down at the plate of food that was still practically untouched and admitted in a small voice, "I can't wait to get a letter from him, though. I think that would help."

Shelby nodded knowingly, her mind on a war in the not-too-distant past that had much the same effect on her that it was now having on her daughter. Reaching across the table, Shelby patted her hand. "You'll hear from him soon. The boys are kept very busy in basic training. But he'll be fine and he'll write as soon as he can, darling."

Rachel bit her lip and nodded wordlessly before reaching for her cup of coffee and taking a swallow. When her father began discussing the latest happenings at the factory where he worked, Rachel listened with interest because it was a temporary respite from her ever-present worry.

…

By the time the eighth day was turning to dusk, Rachel missed Sam so profoundly that her heart hurt inside her chest. There was a void without him and his awkward, goofy sense of humor. And she was so used to Noah popping in whenever he felt like it that she half-expected him to show up at any moment. She missed his deep voice and the way he usually said woefully inappropriate things while waggling his eyebrows just to garner a laugh from Sam and a shriek from her. Hoping to feel better, Rachel called Quinn and invited her over for tea. And while she was waiting for Quinn, she checked her mailbox and stood in the street shrieking when she recognized Sam's handwriting. Running back inside the house, Rachel tore the envelope open and removed the single sheet of paper. The letter was short, his handwriting harder than normal to read, indicating that he'd been rushed when he wrote it. But he said all that mattered in the first few lies: "_I love you and I miss you so much." _

When Quinn arrived a few minutes later, Rachel was beaming. She showed Quinn the letter and Quinn laughed, tugging a letter from Noah out of her handbag. The girls giggled, traded letters, and then squealed with happiness that their men were adapting just fine. And that afternoon, as Quinn and Rachel sat around the table sipping tea and to listen to a comedy on the radio, they laughed in a carefree way that they both hadn't been able to since their lives changed. Reaching across the table, Rachel squeezed Quinn's hand. "They're going to be fine."

"I know," Quinn said warmly, "and so are we."

* * *

_March 1, 1942_

_My beautiful Rachel,_

_I'm sorry this is only my 2__nd__ letter to you. I miss you. I can't even tell you how much I miss you. Coming from the mailroom to boot camp has been one heck of a shock. Puck and I have spent entire nights sleeping in leaking tents in the pouring rain because it's supposed to toughen us up. I have to trust them because they know what they're doing even though it's miserable out here. But I'm doing okay, I promise. _

_I don't have much time because we're off to our next drill. But I'm sending you a hug right now. _

_I love you,_

_Sam_

"Evans! Get moving!" The platoon leader's voice sent Sam jumping into action. Folding the letter haphazardly, he shoved it into an envelope and stuffed it in his back pocket before following the senior man out toward the shooting range for more rifle practice.

…

_March 3, 1942_

_Quinn,_

_So sometimes I think Sam and I make stupid decisions. Don't get me wrong, I think what we're doing is the right thing. But we're doing things that are kicking my tail and I'm the toughest guy around. Kentucky weather is odd, too. One minute it's warm and then a cold front comes through and we're all freezing in our fatigues. I actually miss New York a little bit._

_I can't make this a long letter so I'll just tell you that I miss you._

_Tell Rachel that I said hello._

_Noah_

Glancing at the line right above his signature, Noah scowled. Why had he written that about Rachel? He considered crossing it out but he knew in the end, he'd just have to re-write the whole letter. With a shrug, he folded the stiff paper, crammed it down inside the flimsy envelope, and addressed it to Quinn.

* * *

The nausea crept up on her. At first, Rachel attributed it to nerves and to the newness of Sam's departure. But after three and a half weeks had passed and Rachel had somewhat adapted to her new status as a married woman with a husband off being a hero, the nausea had only increased. It was on a Sunday evening while she was brushing out her hair that she glanced at her calendar and realized that her cycle was late. Gasping, she dropped her brush and ran to the phone. Once the operator connected her with Dr. Moskovitz, Rachel rattled off her symptoms to him. The elderly doctor laughed softly into the phone and promised Rachel that he'd be over the next morning.

That night, Rachel slept with one hand on Sam's pillow and one protectively draped over her belly. Part of her was absolutely horrified that if what she suspected turned out to be true, she'd be enduring a pregnancy alone. But the image in her mind of her parents calmed her somewhat. And then she imagined a child with her coloring and Sam's eyes and the smile that overtook her was still on her face when she drifted into sleep.

…

It only took a quick but thorough examination for Dr. Moskovitz to tuck his stethoscope back inside his black bag, pat Rachel on the knee, and tell her congratulations. As he collected his payment, he offered Rachel some dietary tips to help her through the pregnancy and then let himself out.

Rachel sat at her vanity, grinning at her reflection in the mirror. "A baby," she said softly.

"I'm going to have a baby," she annunciated, trying the words on for size.

"Sam and I are going to have a baby!" Rachel let out a laugh and then covered her mouth, eyeing her happy reflection with glee.

Unable to wipe the grin from her face, Rachel darted from her bedroom to the writing desk in the sitting room. Tugging her favorite lavender paper from the drawer, she sat down and penned a letter to her husband.

_March 15, 1942_

_My Dearest Samuel,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. And I further hope that you and Noah are staying safe, well fed, and are keeping out of trouble. I'm settling into life without you and must admit that I'm finding it fairly difficult. I never realized how completely noisy you were until the house was so quiet _

_My parents send their regards and well-wishes. We hope you can make it home for a visit before you're sent overseas but if you aren't able, I understand. _

_My darling, I have some news that I must share. Although it comes at the most inopportune of times, I can't help but be excited and hopeful for the future, even if you are about to embark on the most frightening of missions. You see, we're going to have a baby. The doctor just left and after a thorough examination, he confirmed my suspicions. The baby will be born sometime in November. So, Samuel, you have to be very safe and return to us in one piece. Your son or daughter will be waiting for you when you get here._

_With all my love,_

_Rachel_

* * *

**Note**: So I chose for the guys to enlist in the 1st Armored Division for several reasons. The main one, however, is personal. My great-great-uncle, who is my father's hero, was a captain (and who went by the nickname "Captain Pete") with the 1st Armored Division. On February 14, 1943, his tank was cornered by Germans in Faid Pass, Tunisia. He stuck his head outside the tank to look around and a German 88 shell killed him. My father, once he'd served in the US Navy during Vietnam, became the family caretaker of Captain Pete's belongings because it was so hard for his widow to keep them around. From a very early age, I heard stories about this man. It's part of what instilled such a love of history and of the Greatest Generation in me.

**Next up**: Rachel's pregnancy advances and the men prepare to head overseas and join the fight. Oh, and I really swear that this is a Puckleberry fic. I know I keep saying that but... just in case you need reassurance. )


	3. Mid 1942

**Author's Note**: So as a lot of my regular readers/Tumblr friends know, I've struggled with writer's block for a very long time. And then this story came out of nowhere. And I can tell you the exact reason: coffee. I just started drinking coffee regularly and it's, like, super-writing-inducing juice. Starbucks VIA is my new favorite thing (along with Pandora for my iPad.)

On to the story…

* * *

**Late March, 1942**

"A baby, huh?" Noah asked, his voice even and casual despite the emotions flaring up inside him. He and Sam were in line for chow after another exhausting day involving running over 20 miles in yet another Kentucky rain shower, as well as some hand-to-hand combat training.

Sam beamed, watching as a pile of slightly runny mashed potatoes was slopped onto his plate. "Yeah, can you believe it? It must have happened right before I left."

Noah tried not to think about the actual act of Sam getting Rachel pregnant and pushed the comment aside, asking instead, "So when's she due?"

"November sometime, not sure yet. I guess we'll know better a little later." Sam paused, turning to grin at his friend. "I can't believe I'm gonna be a father. Even if I won't get to be there when the baby's born."

Noah watched his smile falter and smacked Sam on the back. "You'll get pictures. And a letter. It's shitty that you can't be there, yeah, but just think about it, when you get home, you'll have a wife and a baby waiting on you. That's the life, man."

Grinning wider again, Sam grabbed a roll from the serving line and then nodded at Noah. "Yup, you're right. It'll make all this worth it."

Noah watched Sam weave through the tables to find an open seat and he followed behind, the twinges of…_something_…that had affected him earlier now turning into a burn that was settling deep in his bones. Regret? Jealousy? When he sat down next to Sam at the open table, he shot his friend a furtive glance and then eyed the plate in front of him.

Misreading his friend's body language, Sam tapped on the table and shook his head. "No worries, Puck, we won't ask you to watch the baby."

"Hey now," Noah argued, "I'm good with kids. I'd be a great babysitter."

Sam dipped his roll into the runny mashed potatoes and rolled his eyes. "Sure, man, sure."

After letting out an uneven laugh, Noah shifted in his seat, snagged a green bean off his plate, and casually changed the subject. "So did it hurt when I kicked your ass in hand-to-hand combat today? Because I'm pretty sure it hurt. You looked like you were gonna cry."

"Oh, no way, man!" Sam protested loudly before launching into a lengthy monologue as to whose ass was actually the one kicked. Grinning, Noah felt the tension ease from his body as more of their friends joined in the discussion. Ten minutes later, Noah was declared the winner (based on an accurate poll he decided to take) and he spent the rest of the evening crowing about his victory, rubbing Sam's face in it, and not thinking about home at all.

* * *

"…And my skills at organization are unrivaled in the office and I take care to ensure that all my work is as accurate as possible. I believe that you'll see, given the chance, that you would truly benefit by letting me get involved." Rachel snapped her mouth closed, her speech done, and smiled proudly at the woman sitting in the chair behind the woman.

The woman, a blond in her mid-40s wearing a nurse's uniform with a tag that read "Nurse Annie", smiled kindly at Rachel. "Honey, you're volunteering to help us roll bandages and assemble ditty bags to be sent to military hospitals. We'll take you with or without these qualifications."

"Wonderful," Rachel said excitedly. "When do I start?"

Annie glanced at the calendar on her desk and then up at Rachel. "You're working, correct?"

Rachel nodded, her hand falling to cradle her belly. "I am," she confirmed, before adding, "for now."

Annie gave Rachel a knowing look and asked, "When are you due?"

"The middle of November, approximately," Rachel answered. "And my husband's gone to the Army."

Reaching across the table, Annie patted Rachel's hand. "You'll find yourself in good company, dear. There are a lot of volunteers in your exact position. Quite a few of the girls are expecting and they _all _have husbands who are gone to every branch of the military. I think you'll fit in perfectly."

"Really?" Rachel went wide-eyed, never used to "fitting in" anywhere. But now she was a pregnant woman with a husband off in the military. And with a world war going on, everything was different anyway so fitting in might not be such a stretch anymore.

"Absolutely," Annie promised, smiling. Closing Rachel's file, she extended her hand for Rachel to shake. "We'll see you next Saturday at 10am."

Standing up, Rachel thanked the nurse and left her office. The hospital was bustling but as she walked the halls, Rachel hummed to herself. Volunteering to help out the war effort was just one more way that she felt connected to Sam and Noah and what she knew was going to be their valant service.

…

The walk back to her house from the hospital was a few blocks farther than Rachel normally walked and if it hadn't been such a pretty day, she would have taken a taxi. But the early April day was gorgeous and the rays of sunlight called to her, making it nearly impossible for her to allow herself to be closed up inside an automobile for the ride home. The trees along the street were starting to bud and the cold, winter air that had held a grip for so long was finally gone.

When Rachel made it back to her house, she checked her mail and was surprised to see a letter with the familiar return address of Fort Knox in one corner. The odd part, though, that instead of Sam's usually careful handwriting, she recognized Noah's scrawl.

Curiousity piqued inside her and she opened the envelope as she walked up the sidewalk and onto the porch. Dropping onto the porch swing, she unfolded the letter.

_April 1, 1942_

_Rachel,_

_So I know it's not proper to write another man's wife a letter but when have I ever claimed to do anything that was proper? (Don't answer that. Let's pretend you don't know about most of the things I've done.) _

_Sam told me about your news and, as your lifelong friend, I just wanted to tell you congratulations. I told my Ma in the last letter I sent home so don't be surprised if she's banging on your door soon with casseroles and all of our old baby clothes. _

_Oh, and I refuse to be called Uncle Noah. Uncle Puck just sounds better._

_Take care,_

_Noah_

Rachel laughed at his letter, folding it closed and returning it carefully to its envelope. She unlocked the front door and slipped inside the house, dropping the letter carefully on the writing desk before going to change into her housedress. Once she was in her favorite dress (the lavender one with pink flowers), she slipped an apron on, tied it around her waist, and sat down to write her dear friend a response. The unexpected but wonderful surprise of a letter from Noah left a smile on her face for the remainder of the day.

* * *

The weeks flew by at basic training, one day running into the next thanks to long hours exercising and learning how to handle a weapon. Noah found the physical aspects of the training to be right up his alley and by the time the 10-weeks of training was drawing to a close, he was in the best physical shape of his life. He'd lost weight but gained muscle mass. His physique was now defined, all ridges and sinew and hard lines. If he weren't about to head off to war, he'd love to show off his new body at the dance hall. Just imagining how the dames would react to him in uniform made him hunger for a weekend free of military duty. But he knew, given the circumstances they were facing, the idea of free time to cat around was impossible. The rest of the 1st Armored Division had already deployed to England to begin training for what was going to be their entry into the world war. And nearly as soon as basic training was over for his company, they would climb aboard a ship and join the division.

It was late one evening, not long before light's out, that Noah was sitting on his small cot, flipping through the stack of letters he'd accumulated since he'd been away. A small stack from his mom and sister, a stack from Quinn nearly an inch thick, and the one lone letter he'd received back Rachel after he'd written her. Glancing around, Noah spotted Sam in the middle of a game of poker on the other side of the large room. Watching as the guys laughed at the table, Noah opened the letter and smiled at Rachel's meticulous handwriting.

_April 6, 1942_

_Dear Noah,_

_I was surprised to receive your correspondence. It is a bit improper to write another man's wife but given the fact that we've known each other since we were children, I think the breach of impropriety can be overlooked. We are, after all, friends._

_I hope that you and Sam are doing well as your training advances. I'm staying quite abreast of the war news and am now volunteering with the Red Cross on Saturdays. It isn't much but I want to do my part just as you and Sam are doing yours. _

_And thank you for your well wishes. I'm quite excited for the future despite the uncertainty of it all. In a perfect world, Sam would be here when the baby arrives but as you are well aware, our world is anything but perfect. Just the same, I have my parents, Sam's parents, Quinn, your mother, and the majority of our neighborhood ready to help out should I need it. _

_Please take care of yourself. I know you're eventually heading overseas and when that time comes, please stay safe._

_Warm regards,_

_Rachel_

_PS – And under no circumstances will a child of mine __ever__ refer to you as Puck. That's simply not an appropriate nickname to be slipping from the lips of a child. Frankly, it's a ridiculous moniker. It's irritated me since you began referring to yourself like that when we were children and you know it. Uncle __Noah__ will have to suffice. _

Noah found himself chuckling at her postscript. He knew that she always tried to be so cordial and proper but sometimes, the Rachel he knew so well slipped through. Closing his eyes, he pictured her the same way he usually did: hair flowing down her back as she laughed and danced at her wedding.

The sound of Sam's raucous laughter interrupted Noah's thoughts and he scowled, his face reddening like he'd been caught. He rapidly re-seated the letter in its envelope and then shoved it to the bottom of the pile. Grabbing his pen and paper, he began writing his weekly letter to Quinn. The guilt he felt at where his mind had gone lingered until he went to bed an hour later.

* * *

_May 15, 1942_

_My dearest Rachel,_

_I miss you. I know I start every letter with that but it always stays true. Some nights, I hurt because I can't hold you. I hope you know how much you mean to me and that I can't wait to see you._

_We're at Fort Dix now. Finished basic training two weeks ago and since then, we've been doing maneuvers here. But that's about to change because we're about to leave America. We'll actually be back home next week (at the Brooklyn port anyway) to catch a ship to England but from what we've been told, we won't be free to roam or visit with our family members. As much as I hate that you're going to be so close and I'm not going to get to see you or hold you, I take comfort in the fact that I know you're okay. _

_Please take care of yourself. _

_I love you,_

_Sam_

* * *

_May 28, 1942_

_Dear Quinn,_

_By the time you get this letter, I may just be a few miles away in Brooklyn. I won't be able to see you though because we're just getting off a train, loading onto a troop ship, and sailing to England. Part of me is really nervous because this war is real now. We're about to join the fight. But we've been well trained and we know what we're getting into._

_I don't know how often I'll get to write once we get over there so please don't get upset if you don't hear from me as much. It doesn't mean I'm not still thinking of you or missing you. _

_I'm glad that you're doing so well. And thanks a lot for the package you sent. I need all the warm socks I can get. And the cookies were great, even though I only got to eat but a few of them thanks to all the guys stealing them who don't have great girls back at home sending them things. _

_Keep an eye on Rachel. Sam stays worried about her now._

_Noah_

* * *

_June 14, 1942_

_My beloved Samuel,_

_I don't know how long it takes for letters to get to England. Next time you write, please tell me the date you received this letter, okay? I'm admittedly curious because sometimes, it feels like ages in between letters from you. I love hearing from you._

_I spent the morning with your parents, who fawned over me until I nearly screamed. Please don't misunderstand me; I adore them. But as you know, my independent streak means I'm easily irritated when people don't let me to do things for myself. After I had dinner with them, I spent supper with my parents and then we listened to a few radio programs. It's nice to laugh every once in a while. The world feels far too serious these days and if it takes a ridiculous radio show like Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy to make me laugh, I'll take it. (Honestly, a ventriloquist on the radio? I find that wholeheartedly ridiculous.)_

_I know you're wondering how I'm doing. I saw Dr. Moskovitz earlier this week and he assures me that everything is progressing normally. The baby is growing well and the doctor thinks I'll deliver the baby around the 6__th__ of November. It's fast approaching and that's so hard to believe. I've already started working on turning the spare bedroom into a nursery, as well. I think you'll like what I've done with it when you finally have a chance to see it._

_I find myself yawning as I write this so I will say goodnight now. But remember that I love you and I think of you constantly._

_Please tell Noah that I said hello._

_Love,_

_Rachel_

* * *

England, as it turned out, was a great place to be. The heavy restrictions that were forced upon them at Fort Knox were now quite relaxed. Noah could think of more than one night since he'd arrived that he passed out due to too much gin. He was still heavily involved in training exercises but he felt like he could breathe again. Army life, so far, wasn't that bad. The entire division seemed to hum with the realization that they were on the cusp of moving into the war but most of the time, they stayed focused on their duties. As June turned into July, Noah had found a steady rhythm of work, play, and writing letters home. He'd wanted to see the world and so far, he had. On a free weekend that turned out to be the weekend of Independence Day back home, he and Sam had found their way to London. Having lived near Manhattan most of his life, it took a lot to impress him when it came to cities. It wasn't the old buildings or the odd-looking vehicles or even the accents that enthralled him; it was fact that London was war-ravaged thanks to the Luftwaffe. Parts of the city were nearly-destroyed and _that_ finally brought the fact that he was now truly at war to the forefront of his mind. No, he hadn't entered into combat yet but he knew that it was just a matter of time. And seeing the destruction brought by the Germans on London first-hand, Noah had never felt so ready to fight.

Returning back to company on a Sunday night, Noah and Sam were more than eager to resume their training and then _finally _start to kick some German ass. Now Thursday, the sun hadd been baking down on the English moors for most of the week, forcing Noah to dig his handkerchief out of his pocket and repeatedly mop his brow. The tall grass rustled in the nearly noticeable breeze and from Noah's position flat on his stomach, he couldn't see more than a foot in front of him. Relying on his hearing, he concentrated to listen for the sound of human movement nearby.

They'd been doing drills in the middle of the moors for weeks now. Everyone felt like it was building towards something, obviously, but the speculation as to where the division would be sent was anybody's guess. Some said straight to Germany, others said Africa. Nobody really knew and that speculation, along with the never-ending discussion of the pretty English dames, was popular in the mess hall each night.

That day's drill had Noah's platoon on the move, hunting the "enemy" that was in the form of Sam's platoon. Both Noah and Sam had survived basic training side by side and had assumed that once they got to England, they would stay together. They were quickly split up, though, and usually only had time to catch up for a few minutes each evening when the food was done and the cigarettes were being passed around. Noah missed his buddy but he'd actually made a lot of friends since signing up. It made missing home a lot easier because he knew these guys would be the ones to keep him alive, and vice versa, once they finally saw battle.

Boredom was settling over Noah after 30 minutes in the same prostrate position. He felt something crawl over his leg and he slowly turned, relieved to see that it was just a large beetle that had taken a seat on his calf. As she shook his leg to get the bug off him (he hated bugs), he heard shouting and then an explosion.

"What the hell?" he called into the grass. "We're not supposed to shooting any shit off today!"

When the commotion grew louder and he heard the bone-chilling cry for a medic, his own blood ran cold. Pushing himself off the ground, he looked around and spotted a group of guys from both his and Sam's platoons congregating about 1000 feet away. They were all staring at the ground, their faces pale.

Noah tucked his musette back behind his back and darted through the grass, running as fast as his muscular legs could carry him and skidding to a stop at the edge of the crowd. That's when he first heard it. It was a sound that, at 24-years-old and not yet exposed to the death that he would see later on in the war, was still unfamiliar to him: the desperate sound of pain and misery that slipped from the lips of a dying man.

Pushing deeper between the guys, his heart constricted at the sight. Lying on the ground was a soldier, his helmet cocked at an odd angle so Noah couldn't see his face. But it was the gaping, shredded hole in the man's stomach that caused Noah to swallow the vomit that threatened to spill over. His eyes fell to the wound again and he watched the red creep up the man's shirt until it seeped into his nametag. _Evans._

"Oh shit," Noah swore, dropping to the ground and pushing his helmet out of the way. "What the fuck happened?"

"Shell exploded," the medic explained as he pushed the crowd aside and dropped down next to Sam, reaching into his bag to pull out morphine and a bandage. "Faulty I guess because they were just moving them out of storage and the damn thing blew."

"Buddy, you're gonna be okay," Noah told Sam, his eyes watching as the medic applied a bandage to the wound.

A bloody hand landed on Noah's and his eyes grew wide when Sam rolled his head from one side to the other and said, "M'm not. I'm…" He drew in a sharp breath and coughed. Puck watched pain and concern in Sam's eyes when he whispered, "Rachel."

Everything seemed to stop with Sam's desperate whisper. The frantic yelling of the soldiers, the heavy breathing of the medic as he worked to close the open hole in Sam's abdomen, even the pounding of his own heart – it all seemed to fade away as he met Sam's desperate, pained gaze. Nostrils flaring, Noah lifted his head, met Sam's eyes, and nodded. Sam seemed to give him a half smile as blood began to seep from the corner of his mouth.

"Baby, too." It was hardly audible that time, coming out beneath the gurgling and gasping that signaled the end.

Noah swallowed deeply. "I'll take care of them," he promised.

When Sam didn't respond, Noah shook his shoulder. "Sam! Sam!"

"He's gone," the medic said softly, sitting back on his haunches and pulling his helmet off to throw it on the ground in frustration.

Noah looked again at the gaping wound, now covered in white gauze that was still turning red, and then dragged his eyes up to Sam's face. Sam's own eyes were open, staring at the sky but they were completely unseeing and totally lifeless. He _was _gone.

* * *

Climbing into the taxi outside the hospital, Rachel rattled off her address and then sighed as the car began moving. She slipped out of her shoes, her feet swollen, and sighed as she removed the pins from her hair and tugged her Red Cross hat from her head.

She'd taken an extra-long shift at the hospital today, volunteering first in the preparations area before agreeing to help out one of the Red Cross nurses in the children's ward. By the time she was released, she was exhausted. Now nearing her fifth month of pregnancy, her body was beginning to protest when she pushed herself too hard. But ever determined that she was far too young and strong to let a minor thing like pregnancy deter her from her duties, she pushed on.

The cab slowed to a stop in front of her house, the brakes squeaking so loudly that Rachel winced. She quickly slipped her shoes on and, as she climbed out, pushed the money into the driver's waiting hand. Her movements were slow as she walked the short sidewalk up to her house, her entire body weary. Digging through her handbag to find her keys, she gasped in shock when the door opened before she could unlock it. The nervous, unsettled gaze of her father greeted her.

"Daddy?" Rachel questioned, panic starting to slip in. Her parents had a key to her house, of course, but this was the first time they'd ever been waiting on her when she arrived at home.

Stepping inside, Rachel dropped her bag on the table by the door and placed her hat carefully beside it. When she walked into the living room, her mother was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief and her father was sitting stiffly in Sam's chair.

"Mother? Daddy?" Rachel questioned nervously.

"Kitten, sit down," Walter said, his voice more gentle than normal.

"What is it?" Rachel asked, her eyes now open wide and dark with fear. "What _is _it?" she repeated, her voice void of any sweetness. She wanted answers because this appearance of theirs was anything but normal. And it only meant one thing: bad news.

Walter and Shelby glanced at one another before her mother slowly extended a small slip of paper toward Rachel. As Rachel moved forward to take it, Shelby explained, "When you weren't home, they brought it to our house."

Rachel nodded dumbly, her eyes settling on the words printed on the paper.

_WESTERN UNION_

_RACHEL EVANS 334 LINCOLN AVENUE MINEOLA NEW YORK_

_THE SECRETARY OF WAR DESIRES ME TO EXPRESS HIS DEEP REGRET THAT YOUR HUSBAND PRIVATE SAMUEL EVANS WAS KILLED ON 9 JULY IN ENGLAND. LETTER TO FOLLOW._

"Mother," Rachel squeaked, her eyes darting toward her mother, who was now moving toward her with tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Darling, come here," Shelby urged, her arms outstretched toward her daughter.

Rachel reached out toward her as the tears started to leak from her eyes, the paper fluttering to the ground. But as soon as she took a step, the room began to spin and she felt herself sinking. Before she could hit the floor, everything went dark.

* * *

**Next up**: Rachel grieves and Puck keeps his promise.

**A/N:** Killing Sam off practically killed ME. But it's for the greater Puckleberry good.


	4. July and August 1942

**July 1942**

"…_there doesn't appear to be anything physically wrong with her. I think she's just in shock due to the…"_

"…_when she wakes up, you're going to have to force her to eat. You know she won't, Shelby. You know she closes down when something upset her. You'll have to…"_

"_Rachel, darling, wake up."_

"…_give her more time. She'll be okay. She's strong and tough and she's a fighter…"_

The voices faded in and out as Rachel drifted in and out of consciousness. She could tell that she was in the bedroom, tucked under quilts in the bed she shared with Sam. Her husband's face appeared in her mind and before she could cry, she slipped back into the dark oblivion, the voices around her fading again.

When she finally opened her eyes hours later, a single lamp lighted the room and her mother was sitting in a chair by the bed, her eyes trained on her daughter.

"Mother?" Rachel rasped. "Water, please?"

Shelby nodded, handing Rachel a mug full of water. Rachel took a small sip, closing her eyes as the cool water eased her parched throat, and then she looked at her mother. "How long have I been asleep?"

Shelby sat the mug on the table beside Rachel and began fidgeting with the covers, re-arranging them and tucking them back in around Rachel's body. "Nearly twelve hours, darling. Dr. Moskovitz has come and gone. When you fainted, we called him to make sure that you and the baby were okay."

Rachel's hand dropped to her belly and she splayed her palm over the bump as her eyes filled with tears. Gazing up at her mother, she eked out Sam's name before tears began pouring from her eyes. Shelby was by her side in an instant, cradling her as she sobbed into her mother's dress.

"Shhh," Shelby soothed, her hand running over Rachel's now messy hair. "Shhh, baby… It's going to be okay."

"How?" Rachel sobbed, her fingers gripping her mother's arm. "How will it ever be okay again?"

Shelby pressed a fierce kiss against Rachel's forehead and then tucked her head beneath her chin, tears slipping down her own cheeks as she tried to absorb her daughter's grief.

"You're strong, Rachel. You'll be okay. You've got all of us here to care for you. And you _have_ to be strong for that baby. Trust me, darling, you'll get by."

Sobbing, Rachel could only listen to her mother. When she squeezed her eyes shut, she blocked out everything but the memory of Sam. His touch, his smile, his laugh – all the things she adored about him. How she would ever get past such a loss, she had no idea.

* * *

After Sam died, Noah was in a fog. He wasn't sleeping and his appetite was gone. Every time he drifted toward sleep, he saw Sam, his eyes glassy and blood leaking from his mouth. And then he'd picture Rachel and he'd reawaken with a start, nearly jumping out of his bunk and disturbing the men around him. Luckily, the guys in his platoon and even the platoon sergeant seemed to understand what he was going through and gave him a wide berth, allowing him to miss maneuvers.

Noah spent the first day after Sam died wandering the small village where they were quartered, his mind full of random thoughts that he couldn't get to connect into a sensible thought pattern. He couldn't believe that Sam was gone. They hadn't even _made _it into combat yet. Nobody was supposed to die in the middle of those peaceful moors. And definitely not somebody like Sam. He had his whole life in front of him still with Rachel waiting for him back home, a baby on the way.

Slowing his gait and eventually dropping to sit on a rough, rocky wall, Noah stared up at the cloudy sky. Unlike the day before when it was sunny and hot, that day was chillier, the clouds spitting rain. They hit his face but he didn't seem to notice, his mind across the ocean on a tiny little row house in Mineola, New York. When he saw Rachel's face smiling in his mind's eye, he forced himself to stand up and head back to his bunk. He had a promise to keep and he was going to start keeping it immediately.

_July 11, 1942_

_Ma,_

_I don't know if you've heard yet but Sam Evans was killed two days ago. It's still fuzzy on how it even happened but I guess a shell wasn't packed right and it exploded. I was with him when he died and I can't get it out of my head. _

_Check on Rachel, Ma. I know she knows by now and I hate that I can't be there. I promised Sam that I'd take care of her and I intend to. I know I can't do much from over here but will you drop in on her? She'll have her parents and Sam's around her but I just really need her to know that we're there for her, too._

_Write when you can._

_Noah_

After the letter was done, he shoved it in an envelope and posted it quickly. When he walked back to his bunk, he grabbed a new sheet of paper and started to write another letter, this one to Rachel.

He stared at the paper for what felt like an hour, the pen clicking against the book he was using as a makeshift writing surface. Despite his attempts, the page stayed blank because he had no idea what to say. Did he tell her that he'd promised to take care of her? Did he tell her how Sam died? He had _no _idea how to write a letter to a grieving widow who also happened to be someone that he'd cared about for a very long time.

Realizing that he had no words that didn't sound childish or downright stupid, he stuffed the blank sheet inside his book and shoved it down into his footlocker. He'd try again later.

…

For three more days, Noah started and stopped on his letter to Rachel. He never got more than a few words down before he gave up, folded up the paper, and put it away again. By the third day, he realized that he needed to rejoin his platoon and start focusing. Hitler wasn't going to stop just because his friend was dead. So he went back to early morning drills and 20-mile runs and he pushed himself harder than he had before. The more exhausted he made himself, the easier it was to not think about Sam or Rachel or the fact that back home, she was heartbroken and he couldn't do anything about it.

One morning, Noah dreamed of Rachel again. She was in her wedding dress as she usually was in his dreams but this time, she had tears streaked down her face. He took her in his arms and kissed her softly, telling her it would be okay. She was just about to open her mouth when he awoke with a start, breathing heavily and frustrated. Grabbing his watch, he realized that it was only 3am. After making sure that he didn't disturb the guys, he quietly reached into the footlocker, removed his paper and his book, and pulled them under the blankets with him. Snagging his flashlight from his musette back, he stretched out on his belly, pulled his blanket over his head, and flipped the flashlight on, holding it in his mouth after directing it toward the paper. Without overthinking, he began to write.

_July 14, 1942_

_Rachel,_

_I've been trying to write this letter for days but I didn't know where to start. I finally decided just to sit down and get it out._

_I'm sorry about Sam. I was with him when he died. I don't know how much you want to know so I'm not going to tell details unless you ask. I don't want to put you through more than you already are. _

_I hate that I can't be there for you, Rachel. I hate that I couldn't do anything to save Sam. I've never been so helpless in my life and if this is what war's really going to be like, I'm not sure I want any part of it._

_I know you're sad and I'll understand if I don't hear from you but if you could at least let my Ma stop by so she can check on you, I'd appreciate it. She can tell me you're okay if you don't want to write back._

_Again, I'm so sorry,_

_Noah_

When he was done, he re-read the letter. Satisfied that he wasn't going to be able to say anything better, he addressed it, slid it under his pillow, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

She just wanted to be alone. Ever since she'd received the telegram, Rachel hadn't been by herself. First her mother never left her side and then Sam's parents converged on their house, too, followed by Quinn and more of Sam's relatives. Women from the synagogue, including Noah's mother, Miriam, began bringing casseroles and taking care of the house, dusting, doing dishes, making sure the lawn got cut and the garden weeded. While Rachel appreciated the help because her mind was full of grief and exhaustion, after nearly a week, it got to be too much. All she wanted was total quiet to sit and think and cry.

Her mother had forced her to have a lunch of tomato soup and a sandwich and then Rachel excused herself, telling everyone that she was tired, and retreated to her room. Desperate to drown out the sound of the voices, she turned her radio on and listened to the soothing voice of Mary Lee Taylor give out the directions for the latest delectable recipe she'd tried. Changing out of her dress, she stood before the mirror in her brassiere and panties and molded her hands along her round stomach. Because she was such a petite woman, the swell of her stomach was relatively small. But _because_ she was so small and the baby was growing at a rapid rate, her whole body seemed to change with the pregnancy. Sliding her hands across the stretched flesh, they settled right above where she believed the baby's head to be. Her eyes filled with tears as it did every time she allowed herself a moment to stop and really think about the fact that she was now 22, pregnant, and had no husband.

A tired sob escaped her lips and she turned from the mirror, slipping her nightgown over her body and pushing back the blankets with one hand while she used the back of her other hand to swipe at her tears. Once she was in bed, she pulled the blankets up high and let them settle around her, despite the fact that the bedroom was slightly warm. Blanking her mind of anything but the monotone voice coming from her radio, she began to drift off to sleep. Minutes later, the door opened and the sound of the outside world filtered into her bedroom once again, forcing her awake.

Rachel sat up quickly and glowered at Quinn, who was standing at the door. She bit her lip and glanced at the floor before stepping further into the room and closing the door behind her.

"Do you need anything, Rachel?"

Rachel sighed. She just wanted to be left alone but she was far too proper to tell Quinn to let her be so she shook her head and said, "No, Quinn, I don't. I just want to sleep."

Quinn nodded and Rachel breathed a sigh of relief until Quinn moved toward Rachel instead of back out the door. Sitting down on the bed, she picked at the duvet.

"Quinn?" Rachel questioned, her patience growing short.

"D—do you think Noah's okay?" Quinn finally asked.

Rachel's face fell and her heart clenched, her hand reaching out to cover Quinn's. "I'm sure he is, Quinn. I think…" She swallowed hard, her eyes tearing up again, and said, "I think it was just an accident and Sam… Sam was the victim."

Quinn nodded, her eyes on the pattern of the duvet. "It's just… I haven't heard from him in a while. I'm sure he'll write and I'm sure he's going through a tough time himself. I just… I worry about him."

"Have you written him?"

Shaking her head, Quinn said, "No. I wrote him nearly three weeks ago now and I haven't heard from him since."

"Well then write him again, silly. I'm sure… I'm sure he's just been distracted. You know that he, too, has to be grieving," Rachel said, letting out a small gasp when it occurred to her for the first time that Noah might have been nearby when Sam was killed. Her hand flew to her mouth and she looked at Quinn with wide eyes. "Quinn? What if they were together at the time? Oh, Noah," she sighed. "That's horrible if that's the case. I hope he's okay."

"I'm going to go home and write him a letter," Quinn decided after a moment of silence. "I'm sure he's upset but I just need to make sure he's okay." Standing up, Quinn looked at Rachel nervously before bending and pulling her into an awkward hug. Then she turned and fled quickly, clearly determined to get a letter written.

Once the door clicked closed again, Rachel slid back down beneath the blanket, briefly hoping that Noah was okay before she fell asleep again.

* * *

On July 15, Rachel received the letter from the War Department that the earlier telegram had been promised.

_July 11, 1942_

_Dear Mrs. Evans:_

_You have no doubt been notified via telegram of the death of your husband, Private Samuel G. Evans, who was killed on July 9 while training in England. While this was no doubt a shock to you, I wanted to send our sincere apologies for your loss. Private Evans was a fine man and a good soldier. An investigation has concluded that a faulty shell exploded when it was being moved by your husband. _

_We hope you find comfort in knowing that your husband received full military honors and religious rites pursuant to his faith. He is residing in a beautiful, well-kept cemetery. Full details on the address and location of burial are below. Also, you will be receiving information in a separate correspondence regarding Pvt. Evans' life insurance policy._

_We sincerely regret that this letter must bring so much sorrow into your life and family. You have our deepest sympathy. _

The letter concluded with the messy scrawl and typed title of someone that Rachel gave very little regard to, her eyes instead on the fact that he'd _already _been buried. "This is absurd!" she shouted, pointing at the letter.

Shelby wrung her hands and stared at her daughter, waiting for Rachel to elaborate.

Rachel shoved the letter at her mother, angrily pointing at the second paragraph. "He's _already _been buried, Mother! I was expecting to receive notification that they'd send his body home so that we could bury him _here_! He's… he's not coming home!"

Rachel flung her hands in the air and stomped away from her mother before coming back again. "How am I being denied the right to bury my husband as _I _see fit? He's buried in some cemetery in some town in England that I've never heard of and that I'll _certainly_ never be able to visit. How is that fair?" Her pacing stopped so she could face her mother, her eyes shining. "I wanted to have a funeral, Mother. I wanted to be able to say goodbye properly. I thought that all of us – me, you, Daddy, Sam's family – deserved the right to say goodbye to him. He was taken from us so suddenly! How do they expect us to be able to cope without even the opportunity to bury him like _we _want to?" Rachel blinked twice before a tear slipped down her cheek. "This is infuriating."

Nodding, Shelby glanced back at the letter. "Darling, I'm sure they have their reasons. You have to remember that we're at war; things are different now. I'm sure that's not what they _wanted _to do, either. It's probably what they've had to do, given the circumstances." She paused, skimming over the letter again, before adding, "But it appears that he had a nice burial."

"Mother, I don't care about that. It doesn't help me at all. It doesn't help _any _of us. I find it absolutely appalling that—" Rachel cut herself off mid-sentence, her hands flying up and then her eyes widening. "Regardless, I'm planning a memorial service for him just the same. We may have no body to bury but I will _not _be denied the chance to say a proper goodbye." Rachel met her mother's eyes boldly and said, "Call Sam's mother and ask her to come over, please? I am _positive_ that she'll feel the same way."

Seeing the determined look on her daughter's face that she recognized well, Shelby nodded and reached for the phone.

* * *

_July 14, 1942_

_Dear Noah,_

_It's been weeks since I've heard from you and I'm admittedly worried. Are you okay? I know that you're grieving over Sam just as we all are and I hope that you're okay._

_I've been with Rachel a lot. She's holding up the best that she can. She cries a lot, sleeps a lot, and seems like she has a short fuse most days. Her house is full of people most days and I think it wears on her. _

_Please write when you can._

_All my love,_

_Quinn_

Guilt assuaged Noah as he read Quinn's letter. Since he'd mailed the letter to Rachel, he'd kept his mind occupied. This letter, full of Quinn's obvious concern for him, made him feel like a horrible beau. Most of his thoughts, admittedly, had been on the grieving brunette instead of the worried blonde. He carried the letter around in his pocket all day and as soon as chow was over, escaped back to his bunk to write a letter to Quinn.

_July 28, 1942_

_Quinn,_

_I'm sorry I haven't written in so long. As you guessed, things have been tough. I was with Sam when he died and it hit me hard. _

_You said Rachel was holding up and I hope that's still true. I know Sam was your cousin so how is your family holding up? _

_I'll write again soon. Until then, take care of yourself and please be there for Rachel._

Finishing it, Noah signed the letter and read over it. It was the shortest letter he'd ever written but try as he might, he had no interest in making small talk or discussing anything other than Sam or Rachel. At that time, it was consuming him.

* * *

The First Presbyterian Church of Mineola was packed on the Saturday afternoon that Sam's memorial service was held. Because Sam's family wasn't overly religious and Rachel's entire side of the family was Jewish, Rachel had demanded that the service be less about faith and more about Sam and the kind of man he was. The minister, despite his initial protests that the service need to be full of references to the Christian faith of the Evans family, backed down once he'd encountered the steely, determined glare in Rachel's dark eyes. So instead, Reverend Phelps spoke of Sam's character and devotion to his job, his family, and ultimately, to his country. One of Sam's childhood friends, a small man named Artie Abrams, rolled to the front of the church and talked about how he'd been in a wheelchair since he was a child and all the other kids growing up where cruel to him except Sam. "But Sam," Artie explained, his voice wavering as he fought the emotion welling up, "didn't care that I was different. He just cared that we both collected comic books and that we could spend hours talking about the characters and making up our own adventures. It was almost as if he never really noticed that I wasn't like him. He was like that with everybody."

Rachel dabbed at her eyes with a white kerchief edged in lavender tatting while Artie spoke. And then Quinn stood up and told an amusing story about the time, as children, that she and Sam had gotten locked overnight inside an abandoned factory. Laughing through her tears, Rachel discovered, was an oddly wonderful emotion. It was there, listening to everyone else talk about her husband, that she decided she needed to think more about how he _was_ when he was alive and not just of the fact that he was dead.

When it was her turn to speak at the close of the service, Rachel took to the podium with gusto. "I had a lot of things planned to say and honestly, I don't feel like saying any of them. I don't have to tell you about the kind of man that Sam was. You're all here because you already know. Just as Artie said, Sam never let the differences in people bother him. He made me feel beautiful and loved, all while entertaining my somewhat erratic streak that makes me speak my mind more than I probably should." Members of Rachel's family let out knowing chuckles at her statement and she found herself giving them a tearful smile before continuing. "And while we're all here to say goodbye to him in the best way we can without giving him a proper funeral, I just want to thank him." Rachel let herself breathe through her nose for a moment, fighting the burn of tears in throat. Once she was composed, she said, "He changed my life and I'll be forever grateful. While his time was cut short, he's given me a gift that I'll cherish forever. Thanks to our child, he'll live on. So please, let's remember how he _lived _and not how he died. I think that's all he'd really want us to do."

Before she could cry, Rachel stepped away from the podium. As she sat back down and listened to the Reverend say the closing prayer, she wiped at her tears and took measured, careful breaths. Inside, she felt lighter, clearer – like maybe there _was _still a life to be lived. Her hand unconsciously settled on the swell of her stomach and rubbed as if to comfort the child within. When she realized what she was doing, she grinned and pressed both hands against her belly. _We'll be okay, _she thought. So when she stood at the back at the church minutes later, receiving hugs, kisses, and exchanging small stories with the mourners there to honor Sam, she allowed herself to laugh and smile. It was, she knew, what Sam would want.

…

The letter from Noah sat on Rachel's table for three days before she had the strength to open it. She knew that most likely, there would be details that would cause her to weep and lose any of the strength she'd developed since she found out that Sam was dead. But finally, curiosity got the best of her. After the memorial service was over and she'd _finally _convinced everyone that she would be fine, she was left alone for a few hours of total peace and quiet. She grabbed the letter off the table, turned the volume down on the radio, and tucked herself beneath an afghan on the davenport.

Her fingers shook as she opened the letter. Fear of what details may be revealed in Noah's messy scrawl sent a chill through her. Once she started to read, though, tears prickled her eyes. She was so relieved that Noah had spared her any details of Sam's death. She knew from the letter she'd received from the Army that a shell had exploded while it was being moved and that was what had killed him. But the actual details of his last minutes, she wasn't sure she could handle. _Leave it to Noah, _she thought, _to spare me from further pain. _

Touched by his thoughtfulness and concerned for his own grief and well-being since he witnesses Sam's death Rachel finished the letter and set it aside. In a few days, when she felt stronger, she would respond.

* * *

_August 8, 1942_

_Noah,_

_Thank you for your letter. I will admit that it took me several days to open it because I was scared of the details it contained. Thank you for not divulging any information on what transpired. Maybe some day, I might ask. Right now, though, I think it is best that I don't know exactly how it happened. However, it gives me comfort to know that he was with you when he died because your friendship meant so much to him. _

_I'm surviving. Each day, the pain seems to lessen. Well, that's not the right word. The pain is still very much there. I suppose the right thing to say is that I'm learning to function __despite__ the pain. The doctor has been by several times and he assures me that the baby is fine, despite the worry that I've been under. I honestly don't know what I would do if something happened to the baby. It's a connection to Sam that I'll always have._

_Once I found out that Sam's remains were buried over there instead of being delivered home, I had a bit of a fit and then organized a remembrance service for him. It was beautiful and I wish you could have been there. It might have given you some closure. In fact, if you know where Sam's buried, you might find it beneficial to go say goodbye. It won't take away the pain but I think it will help._

_Please, Noah, promise me that you'll take care of yourself. I know that this war is going to claim a lot of people but I can't stand the idea of losing you, too. _

_Warmly,_

_Rachel_

Noah read Rachel's letter several times, searching for clues about her mental state. He'd expected her to gloss over how she was feeling because she wouldn't want to burden him with it. That's exactly how she was. But her letter told him, at least, that she was learning to cope. Long after he'd put the letter away, her words haunted him. It touched him that she was worried about him, too. Just the thought that she cared made his heartbeat race right up until his brain caught up with his heart to remind him that he was thinking about his dead best friend's _widow _inappropriately again.

The frustration and guilt he felt added to his grief and worry and put him in a bad mood. Two days after he received Rachel's letter, he got into a fight with another private in his platoon. He wasn't even sure how it happened. The guy was been making jokes one minute and the next, Noah's fist was in his face. He knocked the guy to the ground and grabbed him by the shirt before punching him squarely in the jaw. The sickening crack of his fist against the guy's face sent pain through him and it was almost a relief to _feel _that much pain. It took two guys to pull Noah off him and once they finally broken up the fight, he was sent for extra drills and KP duty as punishment. Running an extra 10 miles in a torrential downpour the next morning was a bitch but it gave him time to think and by the time he'd returned to his barracks, muddy and soaking wet, he'd decided that Rachel was right.

An hour later, he was excused from an artillery drill to make his way to the tiny church on the outskirts of the near where village they were billeted. The cemetery looked centuries old; some of the graves were unreadable due to decades of weather wearing the stone away. Near the back of the small enclosure, under a tree, was a fresh grave with a simple cross over it.

Noah wove his way toward the grave, taking careful steps along the way, until he stopped at the edge of the still-mounded dirt. He could see the name "Evans" scrawled on the side of the cross that served as a temporary tombstone until the Army could put in a permanent one.

Standing still, he thought about Sam and how they'd become such close friends due to their shared admiration of the same woman. He shoved his hands in his pockets, shifted his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably, and finally began to speak. "Uh… hey, Sam. Rachel said that I should come say goodbye and that maybe it would help." Pausing when the wind kicked up, he listened to the leaves in the tree above Sam's grave rustle before he continued. "I…uhh…shit, you know I'm no good with words. But look, you asked me to take care of Rachel and I promise that I will. I…I always kinda wanted to, anyway. And that makes me the shittiest friend in the world, I know. I _never_ shoulda felt about her like I do, especially after she married you. But I guess I always felt that way about her a little bit even before you showed up. And you made her so happy that I didn't want to mess that up because all that really ever mattered to me what that she was happy, even if I wasn't the one that made her that way. She deserves to be happy and you did that, man. You made her _so_ happy. And I promise that, if I have _anything_ to do with it, she'll never have to worry about anything. I'll take care of her and the baby." Pausing again, Noah dug his toe into the fresh dirt slightly and then pulled his hands from his pockets. "I know I'm not you and I never will be but I hope that maybe someday, I can make her happy, too." He glanced up into the tree above the grave and then back down at the rich, dark dirt of the grave. "That's all I wanted to say. And I'll miss you, buddy. I will."

He stared at the dirt a little longer, a knot in his stomach full of guilt and sadness, and then slowly turned away. Although he didn't feel any better yet, he hoped Rachel was right. Maybe saying goodbye really would give him closure.

…

_August 24, 1942_

_Rachel,_

_I was happy to get your letter. Ever since Sam died, all I think about is if you're okay or not. I guess I'm just worried. I just keep thinking about how happy you were with Sam and how I'd never seen you that happy. I just want you to be okay._

_I'm doing as well as I can. I got into a fight the other day. I'm not even really sure why. I think I've just been so angry since Sam died that I needed to beat somebody up. It actually felt really great. I forgot how much I used to love fighting. Sure, I felt bad for the guy but he shouldn't have been running his mouth or I wouldn't have had to pop him. But before you can yell at me, I promise you that I got punished for it. They don't let you get away with that kind of thing here. _

_I took your advice. Sam's buried in a little cemetery next to a church outside of town. His grave is under an oak tree and it's really nice. I think you'd be happy with how nice it is there. I told him goodbye, like you said. I got to say some stuff to him that I never got to say before and it was hard but I think you were right about how it would help. I'm really going to miss him._

_I heard from my Ma and she said she'd been at your house a lot. I hope she wasn't making you nutty. You know how pushy she can be. Everybody's really worried about you is all._

_Quinn's written me a couple of letters. I've got to get back in the habit of writing as soon as I hear from her. I don't need her upset at me on top of everything else._

_Let me know how you're doing,_

_Noah_

* * *

**Next up**: The baby arrives and Noah sees combat.


	5. Late 1942

_September 10, 1942_

_Dear Noah,_

_I hope this letter finds you well and free of any more brawls. You're right that I would normally lecture you but since you probably had to run extra miles or swim across a river or perhaps jog carrying buckets of water over your shoulders (I clearly have __no idea__ what you do in the Army so I'm sorry if I'm completely inaccurate) or something else ridiculously grueling for your punishment, I'll save your lecture for another time._

_I was glad to read that you went to Sam's grave. Also, I was admittedly jealous because I don't have the same luxury. I hope, though, that you were able to say what you needed to say and that you are as at peace as you can be with his death. I'm trying hard, with each passing day, to preserve his memory but not let the grief weigh me down and take over. I know you're wondering so I'll just tell you that I'm doing better and better. I have a lot I need to focus on these days, chiefly, the fact that I'm roughly the size of a trolley car now. I honestly believe that by the time my due date arrives, I'll be easily spotted from the top of the Empire State Building. Quinn assures me that I'm being overdramatic but honestly, when have I ever __actually__ been overdramatic? (Please don't answer that. I'm not sure you have enough paper.) _

_I really don't have a lot of news, unfortunately. Your mother doesn't visit as much these days. I think my demands for peace and quiet from everyone finally sank in. I do miss her, though, so perhaps I'll go visit her soon. Sarah did stop by the other day for a moment, which was nice. I asked her if she wrote to her big brother often and she just scoffed. I suppose she has better things to do than write letters at 16._

_It's nearing bedtime and I can't stop yawning so I'll end this now and post it tomorrow. Take care of yourself, Noah. When you write back, could you perhaps share a bit about a normal day for you? I'm very curious (since, as I stated above, I have no idea how you spend your day.)_

_Warmly,_

_Rachel_

* * *

_September 23, 1942_

_Rachel,_

_So after I got your letter and tried to find a river around here that I could swim across just to prove you right, I decided that maybe you __do__ need to know what a day is like around here. We get up before the sun comes up and eat food that tastes like glue. Then we go for a run anywhere from 5 to 20 miles depending on who we made mad the day before. After that, we do maneuvers or drills for hours, only stopping to eat lunch (which tastes like sawdust). Then at night, we all eat some dinner (the best meal of the day), share some smokes, and watch a movie or a newsreel that's projected onto the wall. Then we all have time to come back to our bunks and write letters and after that, it's lights out. See? You're not missing much. What you imagine our day to be like is probably way more interesting than what I just told you. _

_As far as you being overdramatic, I'll save the paper but I can think of about 583 specific times that you might have been a bit dramatic. I'll just keep those to myself for the time being (even if thinking about them makes me laugh harder than I have in days. You sure do like to cause a scene sometimes, don't you?) _

_I'm glad to hear that you're doing okay. It makes me breathe easier knowing that. Just take it one day at a time. I know you have a lot of people looking out for you but if you ever need anything, you can always tell me, even if I'm really far away. Or my Ma. Don't forget that._

_It's time for lights out in a few minutes and I better write Quinn back so I'll talk to you soon._

_Noah_

* * *

Rachel discovered, upon approaching three months since Sam's death, that it was the little things in life that made her feel normal again. Whether it was the weekly dinners she had with her parents or her Tuesday nights alone with NBC's _Fibber McGee and Molly, _which let her laugh for a half-hour and not think about life outside the voices coming from her radio speakers, she found small ways not to spend every moment in grief. She made herself listen to _The Mary Lee Taylor Program_ so that she could find some new recipes to try because she loved to cook. Sitting down at her dining room table and her seed catalog, she listened to Benny Goodman while she flipped through a seed catalog, planning the Victory Garden she'd plant in her tiny backyard come Spring. Slowly, she let the haze of crippling grief that had held onto her for months now shatter and fall away, leaving in its place instead a dull burn that never left but also wasn't completely crushing. She knew life would never be "normal" again but at least she could attempt to find a _new_ definition of normal.

Sam was always on her mind, though. Sometimes she focused solely on him and would get lost in the memories they'd created during their short time together. Other times, she would merely tuck him away at the back of her mind where he was never far from her reach but far enough that she could go about the business of living. She let her thoughts drift to Noah ever so often, too, and she'd wonder how he was doing and if he was safe. There was sometimes a two to three week gap between letters and she knew that once he was moved into the war zone, communication would become even less frequent. It was ridiculous, she admitted to herself, but Noah had become a bit of a lifeline to her and she knew that she was to him, as well. She'd known him for as long as she could remember and considered him a dear friend. And his genuine concern for her touched her and it made her miss him. He was also Sam's closest friend and so naturally, she worried about him often. She knew how her grief was sometimes overwhelming and she had to wonder how Noah handled it. No, he'd never been expressive about his emotions. She could recall numerous times throughout their adolescence that he'd merely clammed up when he was upset. She had friends and family around her and Noah, she thought, must have no one. It made her misty-eyed more than once.

Her advancing pregnancy helped her focus on the future, as well. By mid-September, she was in her seventh month and felt as round as a basketball. Her emotions were all over the place, which didn't help her grief. She'd be laughing and then sobbing in the span of two minutes flat and, always one to control her outward emotions, she hated it.

She was feeling especially moody on a Saturday morning. She woke up, glowered at the clock, and rolled back over with a huff. Two hours later, the bright sunlight that was suddenly pouring into her room forced Rachel to open her eyes. When she sat up and looked around, her mother and Quinn were standing by the bed, smiling.

"Get dressed," Shelby ordered. "We've got somewhere to be."

Rachel's eyes settled in the clock and she furrowed her brow. "It's 9:15am on Saturday morning. Where could we _possibly_ have to be?"

Quinn tugged the covers back and extended her hand to Rachel so that she could climb from the bed. She took Quinn's hand outstretched hand so that she didn't have to awkwardly roll out of bed slid her feet into her slippers while pulling her robe over her body. Once she'd secured it tightly, she shot Quinn a withering glance.

"I was having a good dream. Sam was there and…" her voice faded and she pushed away her sadness, determined to let that day be a "good" day. As she ran her hairbrush through her brown locks, she eyed her mother through the mirror. "So where are we going that was so vitally important that I get out of bed?"

Shelby grinned and answered, "Into the city. We're going to a Broadway show."

Rachel gasped and turned around, her eyes wide.

Laughing, Shelby said, "I suppose that means you remember Broadway and how much you adore it?"

Just then, Quinn tossed Rachel a dress that she'd pulled from the closet and Rachel barely even glanced at it before she was tugging it over her head. She only had a few maternity dresses and they all made her feel like she was walking around in a circus tent so frankly, it didn't matter to her which one she wore. Once Quinn had buttoned up the back of the dress, Rachel walked back over to her mirror and began securing her hair up and out of the way. Shelby and Quinn sat on the bed, both watching Rachel while they discussed the trip into Manhattan.

"So what are we going to see?" Rachel asked, flashing a white smile once her hair was neatly coifed.

"That," Shelby offered, "is totally your choice."

Squealing, Rachel clapped her hands together before practically throwing her awkwardly round body at her mother and her friend, wrapping an arm around each of their necks. Today was definitely going to be one of those "good" days.

…

They ended up seeing _Porgy and Bess _at the Majestic Theatre. Rachel sat, enraptured, through the entire performance before bouncing out of her chair and animatedly clapping at the end of the show. Afterwards, the three of them went for ice cream and then wound their way along the paths through Central Park, dropping onto a bench by the lake when Rachel complained that her feet were starting to hurt.

The three licked their ice cream cones, eyes on the geese lazily paddling through the water.

"Did you enjoy yourself, honey?" Shelby questioned with a pat to Rachel's knee.

Rachel nodded, her gaze following a particularly small goose that was gliding seamlessly along the surface of the water. "I did," she sighed, slumping against the bench. "It's nice to feel normal again, even if for a little while."

Quinn nodded silently next to her as Shelby dropped an arm around her daughter's shoulder. Smiling, Rachel leaned her head against her mother's shoulder and closed her eyes. Today _was_ a good day.

* * *

The stirring winds of change seemed to pick up and turn into a gale force just as September was ending. By the time early October had rolled around, Noah was more convinced than ever that their time in England was growing short. The demeanor of their commanders was becoming tenser by the day. Drills were harder, longer, and the emphasis on shooting accuracy was ramped up. They sat in classes for a few hours each day learning a few basic commands in German in case they were to capture the opposition. At night, the chow hall was rampant with guesses as to where they were going. And when Noah felt like being honest with himself, he could readily admit that he was ready to go. Doing the same thing day in and day out was getting tedious, which only made his longing for home more intense than ever before. He was still getting letters from Quinn regularly and was trying to write back as much as he could but sometimes, he only had some much free time and since he also wrote to his mom and to Rachel, he'd sometimes have two or even three letters from Quinn waiting for a response. And more often than not, his mind was on Rachel. He couldn't help but worry about her. Not knowing how she was really doing and being powerless to help her ate at him, keeping him awake at night. He'd find himself, instead of sleeping, staring at the blackness of the ceiling as he tried to figure out how he was going to honor his promise to Sam from thousands of miles away. It was only when the light of dawn was finally casting shadows inside the barracks that he realized that for now, all he could do was write to Rachel and let her know that he was there for her. From then on, her letters took precedence over all the others. He knew that made him a bad beau to Quinn but he really couldn't do much about it. He had a promise to keep.

On a Thursday evening, Noah was happy to have a few letters shoved into his hands after dinner. Flipping through them, he saw return addresses from his mother, Rachel, and Quinn. He tossed the other two letters down on his bunk and tore open Rachel's letter first, dropping onto the thin mattress so he could get comfortable while he read.

_October 4, 1942_

_Dear Noah,_

_This letter better find you healthy, well-fed, and safe (that's an order, soldier.) Autumn is settling in here on Long Island and the leaves are rustling in the wind, which I love. I'm always reminded why it's my favorite season when I wake up and the mornings are chilly, the smell of wood smoke lingering in the air. The quilts are already piled on the bed and I got to pull out my favorite soft slippers. Of course, while I write this, I'm reminded that you're probably not sleeping in a well-appointed room with all the comforts of home and if this makes you sad and longing for home, I apologize. Just tell me not to ramble on and I'll learn to control my tongue. Well, in this case, my pen._

_Last week, Mother, Quinn, and I went into Manhattan and saw a Broadway show, which you __know_ _I love. It felt nice to get lost in the music and the story for a few hours. (Is it ridiculous that I still dream of being up on that stage some day? I'm about to be a mother and shouldn't have such ridiculous longings, should I? I do, though, and I'll always hope for the day that I can make that happen.) Afterwards, when we got back home and I was left alone, I was hit with guilt for having such a good time. I made a vow to Sam's memory that I would continue to live and enjoy life but every time I find myself laughing or having a good time, I end up feeling like a horrible woman who isn't honoring her husband's memory. I'm finding ways to guilt myself about everything, too. (It's okay to enjoy one of those __really__ good cups of coffee, right? The kind that just hits the spot like from that little diner over on Main Street? Because I had a cup yesterday and let out a happy sigh of pleasure and then felt badly about it.) I hate feeling like I'm terrible simply because I don't want to cry forever but I honestly don't!_

_Anyway, enough of my own trivialities. Quinn said she received a letter from you recently and she was quite ecstatic. She really misses you. She tends to wear her emotions where you're concerned right on her sleeve. You're a lucky man, Noah, to have such a wonderful woman love you._

_I suppose I'd better wind this up and get it posted because I need to get to the grocer. They were out of sugar last time I went and so I'm hoping to get some today. This rationing thing is taking a bit to get used to. Now that sugar is coming in limited quantities, people apparently need it more than ever and rationing coupons are no good if there's no sugar to buy with them. I'm hoping that they don't start rationing other things but I'd say it's probably inevitable if this war lasts for any length of time. _

_I'm sending you positive thoughts to keep you safe. Write when you can._

_Warmly,_

_Rachel_

Still smiling and already formulating a response in his head, he opened the letter from his mother. It was short, as usual, and full of information on his family. His sister was sweet on a soda jerk named Barney, which amused Puck to no end. His Nana Connie was collecting tin for the metals drive in her neighborhood and if anyone wouldn't come off of anything, she'd whack at their front door with her cane until _something _got shoved into her collection box. Noah chuckled as he read, imagining his grandmother doing what was described. She was a scary woman, Noah could admit, but she had a good heart. His mother was getting involved with the Red Cross and organizing lunch dates with other mothers who had sons off at war. His whole family, it seemed, was doing their part.

The letter from Quinn was subdued. She was considering taking a war job but was worried about how her parents would react if she got an actual job. She wasn't brave like Rachel, she admitted, and hadn't even thought about entering the workforce before. But she confessed that the war changed everything and so she might end up being a career girl after all. She ended her letter with a summary of her trip to Manhattan with Rachel and her mother, just as Rachel had shared. From Quinn's tone, coupled with Rachel's own letter, Noah was pleased that Rachel was holding up. The relief at that knowledge was immense.

* * *

_October 17, 1942_

_Rachel,_

_I promise I'm safe and healthy but I can't say the same for being well-fed. Sure, they're feeding us regularly but you wouldn't believe some of the food we eat. It's been so long since I've had a fat, juicy steak with all the trimmings that I can't even let myself think about it. There are certain things a man shouldn't have to live without and steak is __one__ of them. Don't get me started on the coffee, either. I miss good coffee. We drink a lot of coffee here but I can't say it's actually good. It's brown and it tastes like coffee but not the good stuff. I miss that diner on Main Street. Between the coffee and the pie, it was the place to go – and I'm going to stop talking about food now because I just had dinner and my stomach is already growling again._

_I know you said you feel guilty a lot about being happy sometimes and I was wondering something. What if you still wrote letters to Sam? You could keep a journal and just write your feelings down but address them to him? It might be a stupid idea, I don't know, but it's worth a shot. I just know you have to stop beating yourself up. I feel guilty a lot, too, but I know that Sam would want me to stay focused on what's ahead and keep my mind on all the things that are important. So think about a journal – it might help._

_I have to tell you that I don't think we'll be in England for much longer. Nobody's said anything yet but things just feel different. I can't really explain it. I have no idea where they'll send us but I think it's happening soon. Once it does, I probably won't get to write as much but don't stop writing me if you don't want. I'll respond as soon as I can._

_And before you can say anything, I promise that I'll stay safe. I have a lot to live for and I have to get home in order to do that. I promise to keep my eyes open and my head down. _

_I think about you a lot and I want you to know that._

_Take care of yourself,_

_Noah_

* * *

_October 28, 1942_

_Dear Noah,_

_I had to laugh at your last letter. I'm adding coffee, steak, and pies to the list of "taboo" subjects between us because I don't need you distracted at war because you're thinking of food. I'm sorry your food is underwhelming but just think of what you have to look forward to once you get home? _

_The idea you had about writing letters to Sam in a journal is spectacular. I picked up a journal yesterday and will begin writing in it soon. I think you're right. I think channeling my feelings into letters to him will really help alleviate some of what I'm feeling. Thank you for the wonderful idea._

_And now on to the most important part of your last letter and the part that made my heart beat rapidly and the worry start coursing through my veins – your feeling that you're about to go off to battle. By the time you get this, you might already have moved on from England but wherever you are, implore you to keep yourself safe, Noah. I don't care how you do it but just __do it__ for yourself, of course, but also for your mother and sister, for Quinn, and even for me. You're a dear, dear friend and I don't think I can endure losing you, too. I'm not sure I could deal with that happening, honestly. _

_My thoughts and prayers are with you as you begin this next phase and I'll look forward to your letters as often as you can send them. You're going to make us all proud, I just know it._

_Affectionately,_

_Rachel_

* * *

It was unseasonably warm on that Thursday at the end of October. Thunderstorms began rumbling through the night before and, at times, the lightning had been so vivid that it woke Rachel from an otherwise restful sleep.

When morning finally dawned, it was cloudy and gray, the rain still coming down steadily. Rachel winced at the pain in her lower back as she sat up and scrubbed at her eyes. After she reached over and turned her radio on, she stretched, her hands massaging the small of her back to try to alleviate some of the pain. While the newscaster droned on and on about something on the stock exchange, Rachel slumped back into the covers and let her eyes drift closed again. She had no real inclination to get up. That was, she didn't until a sharp pain tore through her abdomen and she jerked up with a start, doubling over. Her hands flew to her stomach, now very round and protruding, and she wondered aloud, "Is it time?" Shaking her head no in answer to her own question, she admonished, "You're not due for at least another week!"

Once the pain abated, Rachel forced herself out of bed, her body in need of a cup of coffee. The radio in the kitchen was playing Bing Crosby when she turned it on and she hummed along as she brewed a small pot, her mind on the chores she had planned for the day. Just as she was pouring the dark liquid into her mug, another pain tore through her. Her mug thudded to the counter, hot coffee splashing across the countertop, and Rachel doubled over again, her eyes clenched tightly as the pain wreaked havoc and then subsided.

When it was over, tears were leaking from her eyes she was exhausted. She carefully made her way to the telephone, connected to her parents' house, and as soon as Shelby answered, Rachel began rambling off her condition.

"Rachel, sweetheart, I think you're in labor," Shelby said matter-of-factly.

"Mother," Rachel argued, "I'm not due for over a week!"

Shelby laughed. "Darling, do you think the baby cares about your due date? When it's ready, it's ready." Rachel heard a shuffling noise before she said, "I'm on my way over. Once I get there, we'll decide what to do."

After the call was disconnected, Rachel made her way back to the bedroom to change out of her nightgown. The thin fabric was halfway over her head when she felt wetness between her legs. Struggling to free herself, she looked down at the wet spot on the floor and then up into the mirror. "Oh my God, I'm having a baby!"

The thought that the baby was going to arrive in the middle of the floor without proper medical assistance sent Rachel into overdrive. She quickly threw a dress on, grabbed a bag from the closet, and began randomly shoving items into it. She was chewing her lip and sliding on her shoes when Shelby walked into the bedroom, spotted the dark spot on the carpet, and gasped.

"Yes, Mother," Rachel said with annoyance, "apparently you were right and I _am _having a baby. Can you call a taxi?"

Shelby disappeared without a word and when she came back, she was snapping her fingers. "Cab's on the way. Dr. Moskovitz is heading to the hospital and you, young lady, need to get there, too."

Rachel nodded, glancing around her room to make sure she'd have what she needed. Spotting a small framed picture of herself and Sam, she snagged it and slipped it into the pocket of her dress. Then she took a deep breath, flashed a smile at her mother, and said, "Well, let's go have this baby."

…

Carolyn Ann Evans entered the world as angry as a baby possibly can, flailing and squawking in nearly indignant protest about being taken from her warm cocoon. Labor hadn't taken long once it started and just seven hours after Rachel was admitted, Dr. Moskovitz was placing the baby in Rachel's arms. Shelby pushed the sweaty hair from her daughter's face and both of the women stared down in wonder at the tiny bundle swaddled in a pink blanket. Rachel lifted her hand, carefully brushing the back of her index finger over the tiny, round cheeks and smiled. "She looks so much like Sam, don't you think?"

Shelby nodded, wiping her eyes, and said, "She has your cheekbones and mouth. But her nose and eyes? Those are her father's."

Rachel bobbed her head, her eyes filling with tears. "She's beautiful," she said softly.

"She is."

Rachel wiped away a tear and then bent, running her lips across her daughter's forehead. "Sam," she whispered against the soft flesh, "meet your daughter." The baby chose that moment to let out a contented sigh and Rachel smiled through her tears, smoothing her hand over the swath of dark hair that capped the baby's head. "She's incredible, Sam. Thank you for her." Unable to take her eyes off her daughter, Rachel silently cried both tears of joy and utter heartbreak simultaneously.

* * *

_October 30, 1942_

_Dear Noah,_

_I know I start every letter the same way so I'll go ahead and say it: I miss you. I had a dream about you last night. We were at that dance hall that you hate but for once, you were dancing and not complaining. You looked so handsome, too. I can't wait until you're home so that we can do that again._

_The most important news is that last night, Rachel had the baby! She named her Carolyn Ann Evans and she weighed 6 pounds and 9 ounces. She's beautiful, Noah! She looks a lot like Sam, which I think was really hard for Rachel. They're both doing well, though, and will come home from the hospital in a few days. I'm sure that Rachel will be writing you eventually so if you want to act surprised when she tells you, you can. I just thought you should know since you're always asking about them._

_I'm going out with a few of my secondary school friends tonight. We're going to listen to a band play and then go for coffee. All of our men are in the service so we like to get together to commiserate on our loneliness._

_I miss you. I miss you constantly and I can't wait until you come back home so that we can begin planning our future. I know we've never talked about it but I want to be with you so badly and I hope you feel the same._

_Please keep yourself safe,_

_Quinn_

The loud call of the bugle sounded when Noah was mid-way through reading the letter from Quinn. He'd already finished reading the letter from Rachel and his heart ached that she was so worried about him. But the sound of the loud bugle forced his attention away from the lightly scented paper and Quinn's loopy handwriting. He jerked his head towards the sound and then shoved the letter in his pocket, the last few paragraphs still unread. His mind was already a thousand miles away on Rachel and the baby. _Carolyn Ann_. Noah smiled at the name as he and the men from his platoon made their way towards the racket coming from the parade grounds near where they were quartered. Men from the division were gathering quickly, most of them antsy.

Noah slid into the front of the crowd and saw their commanding General standing in the middle, standing on top of the hood of a Jeep, his arms crossed and a solemn look on his face.

"Oh shit," Noah said to no one in particular. "I _know_ that look."

"Yeah," a small, ginger-haired man standing next to him agreed. "It means we're fucked."

"Gentleman," the General announced loudly. "It's time. We've received our orders from General Eisenhower. We movin' out. Get your chow, get your gear packed, and be ready to load up at 1900." He looked around at the crowd of men, his arms tucked behind him. "Any questions?"

"Where're we headed?" a soldier a few feet away from Noah called out.

"To hand the Germans their asses," the General announced smugly. The comment was met with a loud round of laughter and hooting before he raised his hand and shushed the men. "We'll be meeting up with Hitler's boys in North Africa. Write you final letters before we head out, guys, and double-check that your life insurance paperwork is all filled out. And remember, don't talk about where you're headed or the censors will make sure your letter never makes it home."

He surveyed the crowd once more and added, "This is it, gentlemen. Playtime is over. We're going to war."

* * *

**Next up:** Rachel adapts to motherhood and Noah's at war.


	6. November 1942 to March 1943

**Author's Note**: Thank you for all the reviews! I was doing really great with review replies and then I had a bad few days at work and now I'm so far behind that it's insane. I'll try to get back on it with this chapter. And this chapter contains A LOT of letters. The letters just really work for telling this story!

* * *

Rachel was in love. In her entire life, she'd never felt such incredible love as she did for the tiny little girl that, three days after she was born, was now getting to go home from the hospital. As she walked inside her house with Carolyn asleep in her arms, her nerves were already shot. _ Honestly, _what did she know about caring for a child? She'd never even sat for another child, let alone knew how to care for one that couldn't even communicate with her. After Rachel got Carolyn situated in her crib and watched her sleep for a few minutes, she changed clothes and headed into the kitchen, where her mother was brewing coffee.

"Get into bed, Rachel," Shelby ordered, her outstretched finger pointed toward the bedroom.

"Mother," Rachel argued, "what if Carolyn wakes up? I think she'll be hungry soon and if we're ever going to get the hang of this nursing thing, I need to be by her side the moment she wakes up!"

Shelby crossed her arms and shook her head. "You need sleep. Your body has been through a lot and Carolyn ate before we left the hospital anyway. She'll be okay for a few hours. Get some sleep and when she cries, Grandma will go get her. After all, what are grandmothers for?"

Rachel watched the pleasant smile on her mother's face and grinned. "Okay, fine, I'll go. But the moment she cries, make sure I'm awake!"

With a _tsk_ escaping her lips, Shelby forcibly turned her daughter by the shoulders and pointed her in the direction of the bedroom. Rachel acquiesced but stopped by Carolyn's room once more to check on the baby before climbing into the bed. Within minutes of her head hitting the pillow, she was out.

When she woke up, Shelby was sitting down on the bed, a squawking Carolyn in her arms. Rachel sat up quickly, unbuttoned her nightgown, and took her daughter from Shelby's arms. The dance of getting Carolyn to latch on to Rachel's nipple was just as awkward as it was in the hospital and after a few minutes of the baby struggling against Rachel's breast, Rachel sighed in frustration. "I'm a horrible mother. My baby's going to starve to death," Rachel whined, tears in her eyes.

Shelby tilted her head sympathetically and then reached over, placing her hand beneath Carolyn's chin and angling her mouth upward. Rachel leaned forward, her hand guiding her breast toward her daughter's mouth. When Carolyn's little lips made contact and she started sucking, Rachel nearly squealed. Grinning at her mother, she settled back into the pillows, her eyes on her daughter. "This feels very strange," Rachel said after a moment.

Shelby let out a laugh. "I never quite got used to it but I did enjoy the time I spent with you that way. It was a great way to get to know you, in a sense."

Silence settled over the room as both Rachel and Shelby listened to the sound of Carolyn sucking. Rachel watched her round cheeks hallow out with each suck and smiled at her daughter. Her eyes filled with tears and Rachel didn't fight it when they began to roll down her cheeks again. She'd cried nearly constantly since Carolyn was born. She knew it was a combination of post-birth emotions coupled with the near-constant memory of Sam that was everywhere she went.

Leaning her head back against the headboard, Rachel closed her eyes and gulped. "It'll get easier, right, Mother?"

"Yes, baby, it will," Shelby answered after a few seconds of the question hanging in the air. "I promise it will."

…

The clock read 2:13am when Rachel climbed out of bed to answer Carolyn's cries. After she was fed and back to sleep, Rachel was wide-awake and restless. She went into the kitchen and turned the radio on very low, thankful when the sound off Glenn Miller filled the room as she sat down at the table. The music softly filtered around her and she closed her eyes, her mind awash with a thousand thoughts. She wanted to talk to Sam so badly at that moment that her chest hurt. It was then that she remembered Noah's suggestion of writing Sam letters in a journal. She darted quickly into the sitting room to grab the journal off the writing table and then sat back down, pen in hand, and wrote.

_November 2, 1942_

_My dearest Samuel,_

_Writing you letters that you'll never be able to read seems a bit crazy, I know, but Noah brought up a good point. Perhaps I won't feel so guilty about everything if I'm expressing it and not keeping it bottled up. _

_I miss you. Part of me feels like you're just still away and that one day, you'll walk through the door and grab me and kiss me and things will go back to the way they were before. I know that will never happen but since I didn't get to bury you or even see you, it makes it hard for my mind to accept that you're really gone forever. _

_And we have a daughter now, Sam. She's beautiful. She's just a few days old now and we're still trying to get to know one another but I already love her so much that it scares me. And now it's the middle of the night and Carolyn is back to sleep but I can't sleep. My mind is full of the most disconnected of thoughts and worries. I can't help but wonder sometimes if it was ignorant to bring a baby into the middle of a world full of war. And now she doesn't have a father to teach her to ride a bicycle or play baseball or all those things that a daddy should teach a daughter. Yes, my father is going to be most helpful and I'm sure that once Noah returns, he's going to be involved in her life, too. But will anyone be able to take the place of her father? And can I do this alone?_

_I love you and I miss you. I always will._

_Rachel_

When Rachel was done writing, there were tear tracks on her cheeks but she felt lighter. Closing the journal, she gently placed her pen over it and then shut off the radio and the kitchen light, quickly making her way to her room and climbing into bed with her mother for a few hours of sleep until her daughter needed her again.

…

_November 3, 1942_

_Dear Noah,_

_I know I just wrote you a few day ago and you probably haven't even gotten that letter yet but I wanted to tell you anyway: the baby is here! Her name is Carolyn Ann Evans and she was born October 29__th__. She's beautiful, Noah. Gorgeous, actually. From what I could tell in the hospital, she was ten times cuter than the next cutest baby and I'm not biased at all! I just happen to recognize beauty when I see it (I have a particularly keen eye). She looks a lot like Sam, which, I'll admit, is difficult at times but she's a good baby and doesn't fuss much and I think she and I are going to be okay. I have my moments, though, where I'm terrified that I'm going to drop her or forget to change or accidentally feed her something poisonous. I'm sure none of that will actually happen but I have to be prepared for __everything__. I have so many fears about the future now, too. She doesn't have a daddy, Noah. I don't think I have to tell you how that feels. Can I be a strong enough mother to make up for her lack of a father? _

_I'm sorry for weighing you down with my fears. They're mine to deal with and mine alone. _

_I hope you're staying safe and that you can write soon. When I get some pictures of Carolyn made, I'll send you one if you'd like._

_Write when you can!_

_Affectionately,_

_Rachel_

* * *

Private Noah Puckerman landed on X-Ray Beach, Oran, Algeria, on November 8, 1942. With nothing but his weapon, musette bag, and pack on his back, he stepped foot onto African soil and entered combat. He wasn't sure what he was expecting but it wasn't nearly as bloody and as brutal as he first thought it would be. In fact, it was hardly bloody at all. A ceasefire was quickly reached and Allied troops began to prepare for advancing into Africa and meeting German troops head on.

The mail finally caught up with him over two weeks after he arrived as his division was advancing toward Tunisia. He was finally seeing real combat and after the first time he was actually shot out, he was on edge. His senses never let him relax enough to actually rest and when a stack of letters were thrust in his direction, he felt relief for the first time in over a week. Rachel's was the first letter in his stack that he opened, of course, and he grinned when he read about Carolyn. Minutes later, he was settling down onto the ground, his back against a crumbling brick house in an area his division had secured earlier that day, and pulling out his pen and paper.

_November 23, 1942_

_Rachel,_

_I'm just now getting your letter. I'm in the combat zone now. I can't tell you where, obviously, but I'm here. The first few days weren't bad but since then, I've seen a lot of fighting. I'll spare you the details because I don't want you to worry and instead, I'll just tell you that I'm all right. _

_The important thing to talk about is Carolyn. I really like her name and I bet she's a cute kid. Does she sleep through the night? Sarah never did. In fact, Sarah was a terrible baby so if you have problems, call my mom. She's an expert on dealing with brats. But since you basically said Carolyn was perfect, she's hopefully sleeping through the night and not puking everywhere like most babies do. I wish I could see her._

_I know you're worried but you have to trust that everything is going to be okay. You've made it this far, haven't you? You're really strong and when you put your mind to something, you always make it happen. Being a mother isn't any different. You'll tackle it and you'll do a great job. And I know you're worried about Carolyn not having a father but remember, she has people that love her and when I come home, I'll teach her whatever you want me to. I'm a pretty good big brother and I'm sure I can be good for Carolyn, too. _

_Please don't worry about me. I'm keeping myself safe. I have to for a lot of reasons._

_Noah_

_PS – I would like a picture of Carolyn as soon as you can send one. Oh, and Happy Thanksgiving. Eat some pie for me. You know how I feel about pie._

* * *

_December 9, 1942_

_Dear Noah,_

_Happy Hanukkah! I'm sure you can't celebrate it wherever you are but I assure you, we're celebrating here and I'm thinking of you as we do. Your mother and sister came over for festivities last night and once they took Carolyn from my arms, I didn't see her again for the entire evening! Your mother seems to adore her, which is sweet. But then again, Carolyn is a nearly perfect baby so she's easy to love. She's also growing like a weed and eats like a little piggy. Her cheeks are getting so fat! Her eyes are changing color, too, and I think she definitely inherited Sam's eyes. She looks more like her father every day. It's hard._

_I've included a photo of Carolyn with this letter. It's already old and she's changed so much but at least this will give you an idea of what she looks like. I want to thank you for the confidence you have in my mothering abilities. So far it's been okay but Carolyn can't walk or talk or even sit up on her own yet. I'm still afraid she's going to get into a bottle of poison or accidentally fall down the steps or something else awful so I'm trying to baby-proof everything as much as I can. She seems to be thriving so I don't think she realizes that she's different from other babies yet. I hope she never feels different just because her father is not here with her. And thank you for your offer to teach her about life when you return home. I'll be taking you up on that. _

_I've been keeping up with the war news and they've talked a lot about action in Africa. Is that where you are? I looked at the map and so I'm familiar with the general location. For all I know, you're on some island in the Pacific Ocean. Wherever you are, I hope you're safe, well fed, warm, and dry. _

_Carolyn is whining and I think it's time for a feeding so I will cut this short. I don't seem to have much time to myself anymore!_

_Please take care of yourself._

_Warmly,_

_Rachel_

_PS – I __might__ have had an extra slice of pumpkin pie in your honor on Thanksgiving. And then again the day after. _

* * *

_December 12, 1942_

_Dear Quinn,_

_I'm sorry that you had to send two letters before you're getting one back from me. We're in the middle of some serious combat and we don't have a lot of free time. I'm sleeping on the ground when I get to sleep at all and it means that I have pains all over my body. Dirt is never a good bed. _

_I'm glad things are good over there. Are you helping Rachel out with Carolyn? I know Rachel said she was a good baby but I'm sure she likes the company if not the help. _

_Did you ever decide if you were taking a war job? If you do, I'll be proud of you. I think that's a great thing to do. My mom volunteers a lot and I think she'd get a job if she could but someone has to take care of my sister. That girl's a handful, even at 16._

_Anyway, by the time you get this letter, it'll be Christmas. Even though I don't celebrate it, Merry Christmas to you just the same. I hope you spend lots of time with your family and everybody that you love._

_Take care of yourself,_

_Noah_

* * *

_December 25, 1942_

_Dear Rachel,_

_I don't know how long I have to write. We're moving out soon and once we do, it'll probably be a week or two before I get to sit down again and write anything. So I'm sorry in advance if this is messy or short or doesn't make sense._

_I'm learning a lot about surviving with very little sleep or food. And before you can worry, I'm okay. I'm with a great group of guys and I promise you, we'd all protect each other to the very end if we had to. That's the thing you have to understand when you go to war – your life is sometimes in your buddy's hands so you better trust him. It's a lot easier if you think you're not in all this alone. I know that we have it easier than some of the other guys do in other parts of the world but it's still not easy and I've already seen some stuff that I know I'll spend the rest of my life trying to forget. And I'm real thankful that so far, I haven't gotten hurt. I've seen a few guys get hurt already. I'm not trying to worry you so I'm going to shut up now._

_How's Carolyn? Since she's almost two months old now, I'm sure she's getting bigger by the minute. I loved the picture you sent. She's a pretty baby and she does look a lot like Sam but I see you in her, too. I think she's going to be gorgeous, just like her mother, when she grows up. I'm going to have to teach her all about how bad boys are so that she never wants to be courted or go for a soda or any of those things. She's going to be a heartbreaker so you better start preparing yourself now. _

_Oh yeah, and Merry Christmas even though that's not our holiday. I know that right now, you're most likely sitting in that little dinky Chinese restaurant with my mom and sister and your parents and the Gellar family and you're all getting so full on Chinese food that your stomachs will hurt later. I'm really trying not to be jealous. Remember the first year we were brave enough try those slimy looking little doughy things that turned out to be really good? My stomach is growling right now just thinking about those. _

_I have to go now. They just told us we're moving out. _

_Take care of yourself and Carolyn. I'm always wondering about you._

_Noah_

* * *

_December 31, 1942_

_My beloved Noah,_

_Happy New Year! By the time you get this letter, it will be 1943 and I hope that this is the year the war ends and all the men can come back home to their families. I think about you constantly and I can't wait until we're together again. With you gone, I've had so much time to think about the time we've spent together. I think you know by now how I feel about you but I've never honestly said the words. But my New Year's resolution is to be more honest about how I feel and to go after what I want so I'm just going to tell you. I love you. I know you already know that but I think it feels really good to write the words down on paper. I hope my declaration doesn't scare you and that you feel the same way. When you get home, I hope we can pick up where we left off and make things even better than before._

_I'm sorry this is short but I'm about to go to a New Year's party with my friend, Tina. It's in Manhattan and I'm really excited. With the war on, I don't get to go to a lot of parties._

_Please be safe and write when you can._

_All my love,_

_Quinn_

_PS – I decided not to take a war job. I wanted to but Father felt that it would be unbecoming of a girl to work in a factory. Instead, I'm going to help out my church because they're doing a lot of good for the various war drives going on, too. As long as I'm doing __something__ to help, I feel okay about it._

* * *

_January 16, 1943_

_Dear Noah,_

_Happy New Year! Wherever you are, I'm wishing nothing but a safe and happy year for you. My deepest hope is that the war ends this year and you can return home to all of us here on Long Island. I spent my New Year's Eve in front of the radio. I had dinner with Mother and Daddy but then I just wanted to spend some quiet time with Carolyn to reflect on 1942 as a whole. I cried a lot, wrote another letter to Sam, and then Carolyn and I went to bed before 1942 could leave and 1943 could even start. To a baby, a new year isn't anything important so she woke me up just a few hours in to 1943 because she was hungry. _

_So that's how I spent my new year. Were you able to do anything special? I can't imagine what you're enduring and honestly, I wonder about it a lot. I hope that you've been relatively free of the carnage I've heard about on the radio but every single time I hear about some of the things happening on those islands in the Pacific Ocean, I'm terrified that you're in amongst the fray. Sometimes, I'm consumed with worry for you. You know Maude Jennings over on Wilson Avenue? Her son, Benny, was killed. She was notified last week. I feel horrible for her because I know how it feels. Sam didn't die in battle but he died just the same and it's awful. I may visit her later this week just to see how she's holding up. No one should have to go through that and I fear for the many families around here who have family members at war. I hope this awful thing ends soon. You need to come home. All you boys do._

_I suppose I better end this letter soon. Dr. Moskovitz is supposed to stop by to give Carolyn a check-up. She's doing fine and growing fast but she has a runny nose. I'm sure she's fine and I know it's winter in New York but I need to make sure she's healthy._

_Keep yourself safe. If there's anything you want me to send you, please let me know. _

_Affectionately,_

_Rachel_

_PS – The Chinese food on Christmas Day was delicious. I ended up eating three of those slimy no-named doughy things just for you. If I'm as big as a house by the time this war ends, it's your fault, Noah Puckerman. I'm eating too much food in your honor!_

* * *

_January 25, 1943_

_Dear Quinn,_

_Happy New Year. I only have five minutes to write this letter so this has to be short and quick. We've seen a lot of fighting lately and so I'm constantly on alert._

_I'm glad you're doing well and that everything back home is okay. I appreciate you telling me how you feel about me but you're right, I already knew. You don't hide how you feel very well. I try not to think about the future much right now because it's dangerous. We have to focus on what might happen next and not what's going to happen a year from now. But when I get home, we'll talk about everything that you're wanting._

_I have to go. We're on the move again._

_Take care of yourself,_

_Noah_

* * *

_February 8, 1943_

_Dear Rachel,_

_We've temporarily moved off the line and I'm relieved. I know it won't last but I got to sleep on a cot last night and that hasn't happened in a really long time. It wasn't like my bed back home but it was still better than the ground. I got to take a shower, too. I'm sure we all smelled so bad by the time we all showered that the smell alone would repel the enemy. We never get time to shave, either, so we're all walking around looking like lumberjacks. _

_We got to sit around the radio last night and listen to some shows and some music. It was nice. Hearing shows that I listen to back home made me really homesick, though. I forgot how much I missed home because I try not to think about a lot of it too much. I think about you and Carolyn more than a lot of the other stuff. I know it's not my duty to worry but you've been through a lot so it's only natural that I worry. _

_That's awful to hear about Benny Jennings. He was the year ahead of me in school and he was a nice guy. I think he was in the Navy, wasn't he? I can't imagine what life is like back at home when you're only hearing stuff from the radio and newspaper. I don't know how long it takes for news to get to you or even if you're hearing about everything. When I get home, I'll tell you about all the stuff I never could here._

_It's almost time for chow and I'm starving. We're getting honest to God hot food today. Do you know how long it's been since I've had hot food? I don't care if it tastes like a rock, at least it's hot._

_Take care and give Carolyn a hug for me,_

_Noah_

* * *

_February 14, 1943_

_To my dearest Samuel,_

_You've been gone six months now. At the same time that I can't believe it's only been six months, it also feels like a lifetime ago that I got the telegram. Carolyn is getting so big and she's smiling all the time. You've given me such a happy baby and I'll never stop thanking you for her. _

_Am I horrible that I don't cry constantly anymore? I feel so bad, like I'm not grieving properly or something. I still miss you with every breath I take but I just got to the point where I was tired of crying. And with Carolyn needing so much attention and bringing so much joy to my life, it's very hard for me to be sad. I feel horrible for even writing that. I love you and I miss you so much. But you gave me something to live for and she's everything, Sam. She's __everything__. _

_I find joy in a lot of things these days. Making Carolyn laugh, a good cup of coffee, conversations with Mother, my letters to and from Noah – all of it are things I look forward to. I'm still living my life and every day, I have something to look forward to._

_I just feel so guilty sometimes that I'm not constantly sad anymore. Even though I suppose it's normal, it still makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong. How can I continue to enjoy life when you're not even alive anymore? It doesn't make sense. The heart is a complicated organ and the brain does what it wants and I'm just along for the ride._

_I love you and I miss you,_

_Rachel_

* * *

"She won't stop crying, Mother," Rachel said, her voice mirroring the frazzled feeling coursing through her.

Now the first day of March, Carolyn was 16 weeks old and up until that point, she'd only had a runny nose for two days. Since the previous night, though, she'd been fussy, refused to eat, and now she was screaming at the top of her lungs. Rachel had tried everything: rocking, singing, and pacing back and forth across the room with Carolyn in her arms. Nothing worked and Carolyn had continued to wail throughout the night. At daybreak, Rachel could tell that the baby was feeling worse than ever and she'd panicked, finally calling Dr. Moskovitz. While she was waiting for him, she phoned her mother.

"No, she won't eat," Rachel answered Shelby's questioned, clearly irritated, and then sighed. "Dr. Moskovitz is on his way over. I'll call you as soon as he leaves, okay?"

After hanging up with Shelby, Rachel went into the nursery and picked her sobbing daughter back up out of her crib. Her cries lessened slightly at her mother's touch and Rachel's heart clenched when she looked at the big tears rolling down her small cheeks. "Come on, baby, stop crying," Rachel urged, her lips against the downy hair on her daughter's head. "Dr. Moskovitz is coming over and he's going to make you feel so much better. Mommy's _so sorry_ that she can't help you. I wish you could tell me what was bothering you, sweetie." Rachel's eyes welled with tears at her helplessness at the situation and soon, she was crying right along with her daughter.

When the knock at the door echoed through the house, Rachel nearly jumped for joy. She tugged the door open and gave Dr. Moskovitz a pathetic smile. He took Carolyn from her arms and Rachel shut the door behind him. Walking into the bedroom, he laid the baby down on the bed. "Get her undressed, Rachel," he said, "and we'll see if we can't figure out what's wrong with her."

Rachel turned and quickly stripped Carolyn out of her gown, leaving her in only her cloth diaper. The baby let out a gasp as the air from the chilly room surrounded her body and her cries began again with renewed vigor. Dr. Moskovitz shushed her as he removed his stethoscope to begin his examination. Rachel sat by Carolyn, rubbing her tiny arm gently, as the doctor prodded at her daughter. He pressed on her stomach and Carolyn let out a wail. Satisfied, the doctor smiled at Rachel. "She's just constipated, Rachel. That's all."

Rachel's shoulders slumped. "She's done all that crying because of _that_?" Screwing up her face, Rachel said, "I should have known that."

The doctor chuckled and handled Rachel a small glass bottle from his bag. "Give her a few drops of this today and a few more tomorrow. She should start getting relief within an hour or two so if you can just endure her screaming a little longer, I promise that she'll be better soon."

A sigh of relief escaped Rachel's mouth as she set to dressing her fussy daughter again. Once Carolyn was warm in her gown again, Rachel picked her up and followed the doctor back out into the main room. Rachel pulled some money from her handbag and pushed into the doctor's hand with a grateful smile. "Thank you, doctor. I'm sorry I panicked."

Dr. Moskovitz pushed his glasses up on his nose and then patted Rachel on the shoulder. "It's perfectly normal. It's going to happen every now and again. Just give her the medicine and she'll be right as rain in no time at all."

The doctor bid Rachel goodbye and brushed his hand over Carolyn's head affectionately before letting himself out of the house. Rachel immediately set to administering the medicine to Carolyn. Then she turned on the radio and danced around the room with her baby in her arms, singing softly, until both her arms and legs were tired. Carolyn's fussing slowly subsided after an hour, just as the doctor had predicted, and within another thirty minutes, she was _finally _asleep.

Rachel put Carolyn in her crib and shut the door quietly behind her. Carolyn had been screaming for so long that there was a faint ringing in her ears now that silence greeted her. She went into the sitting room and flopped down on the davenport, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. She'd just leaned back and closed her eyes when a knock on the door jolted her up again. Advancing quickly as to not let the knocking wake Carolyn back up, she pulled it open and saw Quinn standing on her doorstep.

"Quinn, hi!" Rachel greeted her friend warmly, inviting her in and then hugging her once the door was closed behind her.

Quinn took her coat off and hung it up by the door before following Rachel into the sitting room.

"Is Carolyn asleep?"

Rachel nodded. "Dr. Moskovitz just left. She's been crying for twelve hours straight. As it turns out, she's constipated! Who would have thought?"

Quinn smiled and sat down in a chair, tucking her hands primly between her knees. "Well I hope she gets better. You look exhausted!"

Rachel scowled at Quinn's comment and pushed the hair that had fallen from her French knot out of her eyes. "I know I'm not exactly looking stellar but when there's a sick baby, nothing else matters," she said curtly.

Quinn's eyes widened and she shook her head. "Oh, Rachel, I didn't mean anything by it! I was just commenting that you seemed tired. I wasn't trying to offend you. I'm sorry." Quinn's body relaxed and she slumped toward the back of the chair, letting out a huff. "I'm just on edge today myself."

"What's wrong?" Rachel questioned, concern for her friend outweighing her annoyance.

"It's Noah."

Rachel's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widening in a mix of terror and worry. "Oh my goodness, he's not hurt is he? Please tell me he's not hurt? Have you spoken to his mother? What's going on?"

Quinn stared at Rachel oddly for a few seconds before shaking her head. "No, no, nothing like that! As far as I know, he's fine. It's just…" Quinn met Rachel's eyes. "Is it possible that he's not as interested in me as he used to be?"

Rachel exhaled with relief and tried to force the worry that had consumed her for a few brief seconds from her mind so that she could focus on her friend. "I'm… I'm not sure, Quinn. Why do you feel that way?"

Quinn stared down at her hands. "I told him in my New Year's letter that I loved him and…he's never said it back."

Rachel opened her mouth and then closed it again, nodding instead. "You'd never said it before? I thought you two were already past that point."

"Oh no," Quinn shook her hands. "I mean, I've felt that way about him for a long time but I never said anything. He's not really big on talking about his feelings and I didn't want to push the issue but the longer he's gone, the more I think about him. And his letters seem less frequent and rushed now. And I just love him so much," she added with a tearful sigh.

Pausing, Rachel thought about her own letters from Noah. They still seemed regular and full of information as far as she could tell. Choosing not to point that out because it would only further upset her friend, she offered, "Quinn, he's in the war zone. You can't expect for him to write constantly. You have to understand that."

Quinn nodded, her eyes watery. "I know. I just feel like… I don't think he loves me. Rachel, do you think he loves me?"

Rachel caught her lower lip between her teeth and glanced at the floor before up at her friend. "I… I don't know Quinn. He's never given any indication that he _doesn't_. Then again, his letters are usually about what he's doing and asking about Carolyn and me and also about food. He seems to miss good food," Rachel smiled fondly but it slipped from her face when she saw the frustrated look on Quinn's face.

"So he's still writing to you, too?"

"Uh, yes, he is," Rachel answered uneasily. "Whenever he's not answering everyone else," she added in a rush.

Quinn tensed and then looked away from Rachel. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. I'm just really worried. I love him, Rachel. I want to marry him when he comes home. My biggest worry is that he doesn't love me or that…" Her hazel eyes became pained when she finished. "Or that he loves someone else."

"That's ridiculous," Rachel shook her head vehemently. "You're his girl, Quinn. You have been for well over a year. He's in the middle of a life or death struggle. Just have faith and be patient, okay?"

"You're right. I'm being silly," Quinn said, her voice lifting. "I'm going to go home and have dinner with my parents and then I'm going to write Noah a letter."

Rachel nodded, standing to walk her friend to the door. After the two women hugged, Rachel bid her goodbye and shut the door behind her. She quickly checked on Carolyn and, satisfied that she was in a deep, contented sleep, Rachel grabbed some paper from the writing desk and sat down at the table.

_March 1, 1943_

_Dear Noah,_

_First, I hope you're doing well. I'm sure you're tired of me saying that but I'm going to continue to say that. You're probably no longer off the line but wherever you are, you're keeping your eyes open and your head down, right?_

_Dr. Moskovitz just left. Carolyn started screaming last night and didn't stop until an hour ago. Noah, I've never felt so helpless in all of my life. Her beautiful little face was so angry and she wouldn't eat and she __just kept screaming__. As it turns out, she was merely constipated. My life would be so much easier if she could talk. I can't wait until she can. Not only will I be able to have actual conversations with my daughter but she'll be able to tell me what's hurting her so that I can fix it. She's sleeping now thanks to the medicine that the doctor left. I hope I never have to endure that again. I'm sure I will considering she's only 16 weeks old but I need a few months to recover, at least. She has quite a set of lungs on her, too. I'm pretty sure she inherited my singing ability if her lung capacity is any indication!_

_Also, it's not really my place to say this to you but I'm going to tell you anyway: Quinn is rather worried. She apparently confessed to you that she loved you and, while I thought you two had already exchanged those words, she feels like she's losing you or that you don't feel the same way about her. I assured her she's not and that you're obviously distracted but I thought I would tell you so that you could rectify the situation. She even insinuated that you might be in love with someone else. That's completely absurd, of course, but now that you know, you can ease her worries. _

_My mother told me next time I wrote you that I should tell you hello for her. I saw your mother two days ago at the grocer. Like usual, she took Carolyn from me and I was able to finish shopping easily because she was wandering all over the store with her. She's an amazing woman, Noah. She'll make an incredible grandmother when you have children. I almost feel like Carolyn is her honorary granddaughter. That's ridiculous, of course, but they've really taken a shine to one another. _

_I'm honestly exhausted since Carolyn kept me up all night so I think I'll go to bed now. Take care of yourself and write when you can._

_Affectionately,_

_Rachel_

* * *

Noah read Rachel's letter several times, guilt sinking deeper and deeper into his gut with each pass of the words. _Shit, _he thought, _I don't even know what to say. _

The sound of his name pulled him from the letter and he quickly shoved it in his pocket, grabbed his helmet and his gun, and darted toward his sergeant. Five minutes later, he and four members of his platoon were on an intelligence-gathering mission and he had to propel Rachel and Quinn from his mind completely and focus on observing the German outpost four miles from where they were dug in without getting caught.

Seven hours later, he returned and dropped into the foxhole that had been his home for the last three days. He dug a cigarette from his musette bag and lit it, inhaling deeply while he tugged the letter out of his pocket and read it again. A few feet away, his foxhole buddy, a guy named Mike from Ohio, grinned at him. "You got dame troubles, man? The look on your face says it all."

Noah glanced up from the letter and shook his head with a laugh. "You could say that, man. My girl thinks I'm in love with someone else." While he spoke, he passed his cigarette over to Mike, who took a deep draw and then handed it back.

"So, are you?" Mike asked, the corners of his lips twitching into a grin.

Noah glanced down at Rachel's pretty signature and then up at Mike. "Yeah, I am," he admitted with a sigh.

Mike shook his head. "So I guess you're fucked then, aren't you?"

Nodding absently, Noah looked down at the letter again, his mind whirring with how he was going to answer it without saying too much or giving the way he felt away to Rachel. "Guess so."

* * *

**Next up**: Rachel and Noah grow closer while he and Quinn continue to grow apart.


	7. Mid 1943

_March 23, 1943_

_Dear Rachel,_

_Got your letter but as soon as I finished reading it, I got pulled away so I'm a little delayed in writing back. I'm sorry Carolyn got sick but at least it wasn't anything serious. Don't beat yourself up when she gets sick, either. You're not going to know how to take care of every little thing. That's why Dr. Moskovitz is just a phone call away. He's a good doctor, even if he is older than Moses. _

_I really don't know what to say about the Quinn situation. She did tell me she loved me and no, I didn't say it back. It's just that I don't throw those words around much – well, ever really. I don't say things I don't mean, either. Don't get me wrong, I care about her. It's just—It's complicated. I'm sorry I can't give you a better answer than that right now. I would like to but I don't want to mess things up. Someday, when I'm back home and I can talk to you without a pen and paper between us, I'll explain everything. I'll try to smooth things over with Quinn now, though. I don't want you pulled into the middle of her and me. You have more important things to worry about. _

_I got a letter from Ma three days ago. I swear, more than half of it was about Carolyn. She loves that baby. She'd love to see her more, I think. If you ever need a break, just call Ma. She'll be over there so fast your head will spin. _

_We have to head out soon so I'll sign off now. Please take care of yourself. I promise that I'm doing the same._

_Noah_

* * *

_March 25, 1943_

_Dear Quinn,_

_I've got a stack of letters sitting here to respond to but I'm going to write to you first (my sister wrote me for once. Can you believe it?) I hope you're doing okay. How's the work with your church going? Whatever you all are doing for the war effort is appreciated. Things are tough right now but we're getting by. Each day we make a little more progress and in the end, that's what's going to win this war. I can't wait to get off the line. Actually, I can't wait to come home but I really don't let myself think about that too often. It's too hard to think about things back at home because it makes me homesick. And when I get homesick, my mind isn't on what I need to be doing here. I hope you don't feel like I don't care when I send you short letters because that's not the case. Just understand that I have to think this way for now. You're still my girl._

_Thanks for writing so much, Quinn. Take care of yourself and send me a long letter back about everything that's going on. _

_Sincerely,_

_Noah_

* * *

Rachel read the same line in Noah's letter more than once – _Someday, when I'm back home and I can talk to you without a pen and paper between us, I'll explain everything. _For some reason, it made her heart flutter and then that flutter was instantly followed by a deep, stabbing pang of guilt for letting herself react the way she had.

Rachel looked over the top of the letter at Carolyn, who was lying on her back on the floor chewing on a rattle with her feet in the air. "What does he mean?"

Carolyn smiled up at her with big, expressive eyes and Rachel felt her heart melt even more. She smiled back at her daughter and then she glanced back down at Noah's masculine scrawl. _It's complicated. _

"What _does _that even mean, Carolyn Ann?" Rachel asked her daughter again. Folding the letter up, she put it back in the envelope and dropped it on the writing desk before sitting down on the floor with Carolyn. Rachel ran her hand over the baby's head and said, "How is it complicated? He's Quinn's beau and he has been for a long time. How in the _world _is it complicated? And how would he 'mess' things up?"

Carolyn just grinned and pushed her rattle toward her mother, who took it and shook it gently over the baby's head. Carolyn batted at it, a slight squeal escaping her lips, and Rachel laughed, repeating the action to evoke the same adorable result. After 20 minutes of playing with the baby on the floor, Carolyn finally yawned and Rachel knew it was time for a nap. She picked Carolyn up and took her to her room where she rocked her until she fell asleep. Once she was tucked into her crib, Rachel left her room, grabbed Noah's letter again, and sat down at the table while the radio playing low in the background.

She read over it again, hoping that this time she would understand what his cryptic words actually meant but alas, she was still at a loss. Why did she feel like his issues with Quinn also had to do with _her_? Rachel shook her head. "That's ridiculous," she told herself. "Noah's just been concerned about me because of Sam, that's all."

Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her legs at the ankle and tapped her pen against the table. "Although," she admitted out loud, "he's been my friend since we were children. Our relationship extends farther back than my marriage _and _his relationship with Qinn."

Rachel let her mind travel back to her conversation with Quinn three weeks before. Quinn had seemed irritated that letters from Noah still arrived regularly for Rachel and Rachel hadn't known how to react to that. Did Quinn think it was inappropriate that Noah would write to her, even if she were a childhood friend and the widow of his closest friend?

She furrowed her brow in concern. _Quinn doesn't think I'm… I'm romantically interested in Noah, does she? _The thought hadn't occurred to her before then but she as sat there, nervously tapping her foot on the wooden floor, it seemed like a logical conclusion. Rachel shook her head at Noah's letter again and then looked up at the window that was letting in bright sunlight. The way her heart quickened in her chest when she let her mind contemplate the idea that Noah cared for her _that way _filled her with fury towards her own erratic emotions. She was a grieving widow, for heaven's sake! Entertaining feelings for someone else wasn't possible, even if that someone was as wonderful as Noah.

Rachel quickly grabbed a stack of blank paper and prepared to write him back. It would be a short, friendly letter devoid of anything that might make either him _or _Quinn assume that Rachel felt anything towards him other than friendship, she decided.

_April 12, 1943_

_Dear Noah,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Things at home are progressing as normal. The baby is growing quickly and will be crawling in no time._

_Your mother might have told you already but Dave Karofsky was killed in the Pacific. He was in the Marines. _

_Speaking of your mother, she stopped by last night and visited for a while. She brought with her a delicious coffee cake that I am sure my entire family will be enjoying later tonight. _

_Please continue to take care of yourself._

_Rachel_

She read over the letter and ignored the irritation with herself that the letter contained none of the normal friendly language she typically shared in letters with him. But if she _were _the cause of tension between Noah and Quinn, the best thing she could do was make sure it didn't happen again.

"Short and sweet," she told herself aloud. "All he really wants is news from home anyway."

After she'd convinced herself that the letter was fine, she folded it up, and shoved it in an envelope. Before she could change her mind and redo it, she addressed it, put postage on it, and dropped in the mailbox. Then she pushed Noah and Quinn from her mind and set about dusting her entire house from top to bottom. Her problem was that Noah wouldn't _stay _off her mind. His handsome features kept popping into her head and with a frustrated huff, she finally threw down her duster, ignored the dust the flew up everywhere and would cause her to have to repeat the chore all over again, and went to take a nap herself.

* * *

The letter from Rachel dated April 12th confused Noah. Now early May, the Germans were in the process of retreating from the Allied forces in Tunisia after months of battle and Noah was about to move off the line for a bit of rest and respite before the entire division was shipped elsewhere. He was leaning against a wall, his eyes tired from being in the beating sun for too long, and he read her letter again and again, trying to figure out why the tone had changed. He couldn't remember what he wrote to her last other than that it was about Quinn's feelings for him. He hadn't said anything wrong, had he?

Once he had a few minutes to himself, he finally sat down and wrote, his confusion evident with his words.

_May 1, 1943_

_Dear Rachel,_

_Did I make you mad or something? Your last letter was different than your other ones and if something was going on back at home, I figured you would have told me about it so the only thing I can come up with was that I made you mad. If I did, I'm sorry. The last thing I ever want to do is make you mad. If you're upset with me over how I handled things with Quinn, again, I'm sorry. I wrote her and tried to make things better so hopefully she won't bend your ear with our problems anymore. I hope you don't feel like we're putting you in the middle. I don't want that at all. I know you're busy with Carolyn and everything._

_I guess I'll just end this and send it since there's not really much to say and I don't want to waste your time if you're mad at me. _

_Noah_

After he'd sent the letter off, he sat back and stared up at sky. He hadn't meant to anger Rachel. Her last letter made him feel like everything they'd developed was falling apart. No, he didn't think Rachel was in love with him or anything; it had been too soon since Sam died. But he wanted the chance to prove to Rachel that he could be the man she needed and maybe, after she saw how much she meant to him, she'd learn to love him as much as he already loved her. And no, he probably _shouldn't _be writing to Rachel as much as he was when he had a girl who loved him back at home but he'd made a promise to Sam and he was going to keep that promise.

Noah let out a sigh and stared at the dirt on his worn boots. Deciding he wasn't wasting another minute thinking about dames when the guys had discovered a cache of liquor that the Germans had left behind when they'd retreated, he stood up and headed off toward the other guys. He hadn't been drunk in over a year and he was about to end his dry spell.

* * *

Rachel read Noah's letter with a mixture of guilt and sadness. _Oh Noah, I'm not mad at you, _she thought sadly. _I'm just… I don't know what I am. _Perhaps she had been a bit reactionary to his last letter? Thinking that she'd worried or upset him twisted her stomach into a knot and she knew she needed to fix it. Situating Carolyn on her hip, Rachel grabbed some paper and sat down at the table, her daughter on her knees when she wrote back.

_May 14, 1943_

_Dear Noah,_

_I'm so sorry that you thought I was angry! I truly wasn't. I just thought… I honestly don't know what I thought. I regret giving you that impression but I assure you that everything is fine. _

_If my handwriting seems off, it's because I'm writing this letter with Carolyn in my lap and she keeps grabbing at my pen. She's usually napping when I write but today, she's been fussy and quite the needy child. She won't even let me put her down without screaming and honestly, I may be deaf by the time I'm 25 thanks to this baby's lungs. _

_I wanted to get your opinion on something. One of the ladies at the synagogue has inquired as to whether I'd be interested in singing at the USO. It would only be a few hours a month and you know how much I love to sing. It might be great exposure for me. But is it an appropriate activity for a mother and a war widow? Since the National Jewish Welfare Board is involved with the USO, the ladies have been talking it up after prayers (you know, when everyone gathers in the vestibule and pretends not to be gossiping?) Your mother is definitely supportive of the idea and has offered to keep Carolyn for me should I decide to do it. I think it would be a wonderful way to support the war effort, don't you? Please let me know what you think._

_That reminds me, you were a topic of conversation amongst the ladies at the synagogue the other evening, too. Mrs. Edelstein wanted to know if you were "still courting that fair Fabray girl." Your mother was tight-lipped with the responses, too, I noticed. You're apparently quite popular amongst the ladies at our temple. I'm not sure if that's flattering or not considering the average age is at least 50 years old but there it is, just the same. _

_Carolyn just stole the pen from my hand completely and I had to get it back so I suppose I'll end this before she gets mad and tears up the paper, causing me to start over._

_Please take care of yourself and as my daddy would say, "don't take any wooden nickels." (What does that actually mean anyway?)_

_Warmly,_

_Rachel_

* * *

_May 29, 1943_

_Dear Rachel,_

_I had to laugh at your last letter because your handwriting did seem off. I guess that's what happens when you have a squirming kid in your arms. _

_We've been on the move a lot and some major stuff is happening. If you're listening to the war news on the radio, I'm sure you've heard about it. Pay attention to those updates because I'm in the middle of it. (Sorry I can't be more specific.) _

_Can I just take a minute to tell you how much I hate wool socks? For the rest of my life once this stupid war is over, I will never wear a pair of wool socks again. They weren't bad at first but they've been all that's on my feet for the last year and they're itchy and uncomfortable. It's a really dumb thing to complain about with everything that's happening but they're driving me bonkers today so I thought I'd tell you. Also, I miss my guitar. I haven't played it in so long that I'm afraid I'll forget how once I get home. _

_I think you singing at the USO is the greatest idea I've ever heard. You've got such a great voice and the guys in the service would love it, I promise. Besides, we don't get to see pretty girls much these days and so the guys that get to see you and hear you? Pretty lucky guys. You should do it. And Ma will be happy to watch Carolyn for you. If you're lucky, she might even give her back when you're done._

_It's chow time so it's time to go eat gruel out of a tin cup again. Take care of yourself._

_Noah_

* * *

Rachel supposed that it was bound to happen. When she heard on the radio that coffee was now being rationed and her latest book of rationing stamps arrived, she told herself that it wouldn't really be that much of a big deal. But after going to first one grocer and then another and being told, "Sorry, ma'am, we're fresh out," at both places, she was a little on edge. But, she told herself, it was okay because she still had some at home in the pantry.

Three days later, she officially ran out of coffee. Three trips to three different grocers later, she accepted the fact that she'd been rationed _right out _of coffee. So when she sat down at her writing desk on that June night and wrote Noah a letter, she couldn't help herself.

_June 13, 1943_

_Dear Noah,_

_I hope that, wherever you are, you're drinking coffee. I, however, am not. Coffee started being rationed last month but I didn't worry because I had plenty at the time. Now it's a new month and I have a brand new book of ration stamps but none of the stores have any coffee. None of them, Noah. __None__. I'm trying not to be devastated but it's quite my creature comfort and without any, I feel less invigorated. I'm drinking tea right now but I don't think I have to tell you that it's a weak, tasteless substitute. Please, please, have coffee for me if you can. I've had pie and Chinese food in your honor so promise me that the next time you get a steaming hot mug of coffee, no matter how bad it is, you'll have a big swallow in my honor? Hopefully by the time we speak again, I'll be back in possession of coffee beans as well._

_Now on to less ridiculous and much more important matters; Carolyn is trying to crawl. She does this little scooting that I find hilarious, especially because she ends up going in the opposite direction than she intended. It infuriates her, too, Noah. You should see! She scrunches up her face and gets angry when she realizes that she's now farther away from me or her toy or whatever it was she wanted than before she started. Her temper is so much like mine that it worries me. I was quite the challenge for my parents (apparently, based on what I've been told) and I'm wondering if I'll be the same. Mother says I was exceptionally headstrong all through childhood but again, I don't remember. I'm hoping Carolyn figures out how to stop going in reverse before she gets so upset that her shrieking breaks the glass but I've laughed so hard since she started doing it that I have to wipe tears off my cheeks. And the hilarious aspects make up for the fact that she's teething and loves to scream at the top of her lungs because of the pain. She has two teeth already and they're sharp. She used to be this adorable little lump that didn't do much but now she's growing and changing so rapidly that I fear I'll miss something if I blink. She'll be walking and talking before I know it but I hope that the war is over by then and that you'll be here to see her when she does those things. She'll definitely keep you entertained. _

_So I did my first performance at the USO. The club was packed with service members from all over and if I do say so myself, I blew them away. I'm scheduled to sing again next week and I'm really excited. I've never gotten to sing before such a large crowd before and I love it, Noah. I absolutely love it. There's something about applause. I can't even tell you but it makes my heart swell up and flutter and I can't stop smiling._

_I'm sorry you miss your guitar. You're so talented on it, Noah. I hope you get to play again soon. Just add it to the list of things you can look forward to (along with never wearing wool socks again.)_

_I don't think I know anything else. I'm so sorry I'm boring. _

_Please take care of yourself, stay dry, stay safe, and drink coffee. _

_Affectionately,_

_Rachel_

_P.S. "Dipsy Doodle" is the single stupidest song I have ever had the displeasure of listening to. (I'm only telling you that because it's on the radio right now and it's really awful.)_

* * *

_June 14, 1943_

_My dearest Noah,_

_I'm missing you tonight. I was lying in bed, thinking about the way you used to kiss me, and it literally made my heart ache. It's been over a year since we've kissed, Noah. A year. Can you believe it? I miss the way you'd cup my cheek in your hand and look into my eyes right before our lips met. Do you ever think about those things? _

_The reason I ask is because I can't help but feel like you're not telling me something. Your last letters have been spaced so far apart that I almost felt like I was never going to get a reply. I don't mean to complain and I know that you write a lot of letters, what with your mom and your sister and Rachel writing you, too. I guess I just want to feel special and hear from you as much as possible. I know you're at war and that you have a job to do and I don't want to sound ungrateful. I just miss you so much and I love you with all of my heart. I want this whole stupid war to be over with so you can come home and marry me. Do you want that, too? Please say that you do._

_Stay safe, Noah._

_All my love,_

_Quinn_

* * *

_June 28, 1943_

_Ma,_

_Hi, Ma. I hope everything's okay at home. I have a huge favor to ask and if you can't do it, that's fine. I got a letter from Rachel that said she was out of coffee and that she couldn't get any anywhere thanks to rationing. I remember you telling me in a letter two months ago that you were giving coffee up because it was keeping you up at night. Do you still have any at home that you never fixed? If you do and you can take it to Rachel, I think she'd really like that. She sent me a letter and she was kind of nuts over it. Plus, Carolyn is teething and screaming and I think coffee would help._

_I'll write again soon. _

_Noah_

* * *

_June 28, 1943_

_Dear Rachel,_

_The one thing we seem to have in steady supply is coffee. Now I feel kind of bad that I'm drinking it pretty much constantly and you don't get to have any at all. If it makes you feel better, it tastes like someone washed their feet in it. It's not good coffee and you'd probably rather not be drinking it all instead of drinking this awful stuff._

_I loved hearing about Carolyn and her crawling. I bet she'll be walking in no time. After that, she'll take over the whole world. She seems to have a big personality (she reminds me a lot of her mother and I haven't even met her yet.) I like how you pretend you weren't headstrong growing up, either. Do you remember the first time we played together and I told you that your hair looked stupid? You kicked me in the shins and stomped away. I'd say that's pretty headstrong. Did I ever tell you about the time that Sarah learned how to climb out of her crib when she was little? She hoisted herself over and ended up wandering through the house. Ma found her sitting on the front porch the next morning. The kid had even unlocked the door. Sounds like Sarah and Carolyn have a lot in common so you better watch out. _

_I'm real happy to hear that you're singing at the USO. You're going to make a lot of guys happy when they hear you. You'll be breaking a lot of hearts, too. We've heard that we may get a USO show over here and Bob Hope might even come with them. Can you believe it? I might actually get to see Bob Hope. Ma loves his radio show. I suppose he's okay but it's been so long since we've had real entertainment besides old movies and newsreels that a USO show sounds pretty great. I'll let you know if we end up getting the show._

_I guess I'll sign off now because I can't quit yawning._

_Noah_

_P.S. I hate "Dipsy Doodle", too. That song is awful._

* * *

_June 28, 1943_

_Dear Quinn,_

_I'm sorry you're missing me so much. I wish I could say something that would make you feel better but you know I can't. I care a lot about you and that has to be enough for now. I'm sorry I can't give you more than that. I'm sure you're getting tired of telling me how you feel and me not being able to tell you want you need to hear back. I care about you, I do. Just understand that until this war is over, I have to focus on what I'm doing here. Thinking about what I want when I get back at home is just too hard. _

_I don't mean to hurt your feelings because you do matter to me and I do miss you, too. _

_Take care of yourself,_

_Noah_

* * *

July 9th was just one tiny little block on the monthly calendar that hung next to the stove but it glared brightly at Rachel with every pass she made. She couldn't believe that time had flown fast enough to already mark the one-year anniversary of Sam's death. It weighed her down and set her back. In the past year, she'd gone from grieving constantly to having her emotions toss her around like a tiny ship in the ocean to now, when she was mostly happy, wrapped up in her daughter and focusing on the future. Her mind would float about and she'd get tiny glimpses of what he wanted her future to be like. Sometimes, she would picture herself watching Carolyn play hopscotch on the sidewalk. Other times, she'd see herself curling Carolyn's hair while they listened to a radio show. And other times, usually when she was nearing sleep, she'd imagine that she was standing on her front porch and she'd feel a hand slip into hers. When she'd look up, her brown eyes would lock with a set of hazel ones. The laugh lines around his eyes would crinkle with his brilliant smile and her heart would clench. He'd nuzzle her ear with his nose and she'd squeak out "Noah!" in protest. And inevitably, guilt would chase the images away and she'd be left with Sam's face, smiling at her like he did on their wedding day. Rachel would feel so angry with herself that she'd have to fight off the tears. It was like her mind and her heart were in constant battle and she didn't know what to do.

Those emotions were particularly strong as July 9th approached. The night before, when the clock was just about to strike midnight, Rachel was in her thin cotton night dress, a pair of pink slippers on her feet, when she slipped into the wooden chair of her writing desk and pulled out a piece of paper. Her emotions were frayed because she'd been right in that dreamy, cloud-like state between awake and asleep and she'd seen his face again. Noah's, not Sam's. Her eyes had opened wide and she'd groaned in angry frustration before getting up to check on Carolyn. Restless and weary from the emotional tug-of-war she was doing to herself, she wrote.

_July 8, 1943_

_Dear Noah,_

_I don't think I have to remind you what tomorrow is. And because it's the anniversary of something so tragic, I hope against hope that you're safe. I can't tell you how often I worry about your safety. _

_I woke up this morning and it hit me like a ton of bricks. I still had to go about my day and feed Carolyn and do my chores but my mind was over there. I can't believe it's been an entire year. Time has simply flown by. The baby has been a wonderful distraction and I'm so thankful for her. I just wonder if I'll always feel this way. I feel like I should still be grieving and the other part of me wants to live and enjoy every moment of life. Is it wrong that I am happy to still be alive when my husband is dead and buried in some cemetery practically on the other side of the world as far as I'm concerned. How am I supposed to go on with my life? What's appropriate and what's not? Am I allowed to remarry one day should I get to that stage with the right man? What do I tell Carolyn about her father? How do I handle these emotions? Is it okay to __want__ to fall in love again someday? _

_I'm sorry. I don't mean to pour this out to you but you've been there for me since Sam died, even from all these miles, and I feel like you'll understand better than anyone else. I don't mean to get so personal with you and I realize that whenever it does, it causes problems between you and Quinn. I have to learn to control myself but I've never been one to hold back my tongue, even when I'm writing. It's so easy to open up to you that I can't help myself sometimes. I just want to feel normal again. Sometimes I feel like I'll live in limbo for the rest of my days._

_I also must thank you for sending your mother over with coffee. You don't know how touched I was that you thought enough of me to arrange such a thing from wherever it is that you are. I know you'll hate when I say it but I'm saying it anyway: you, Noah Puckerman, are a sweet, sweet man when you want to be. I'm drinking a cup of coffee now and it's fantastic. I'm also choosing my brewing times carefully so that it lasts._

_Please take care of yourself and write as soon as you're able._

_Affectionately,_

_Rachel_

…

_July 9, 1943_

_To my dearest Samuel,_

_You died a year ago today. It seems like it happened yesterday but at the same time it feels like ages ago. In the last year, it's hard to believe that I've had a baby and that we're both doing so incredibly well. And despite the loss of you, I'm actually happy. I have days where I miss you so much that it hurts but then I just have to look at Carolyn and I feel instantly better. She's beautiful and she's funny and she's the answer to all my prayers. I love her more than anything and I'll forever be indebted to you for her._

_I have to question my own sanity sometimes, though. It's only been a year since you died and part of me is ready to move on and heal the wounds in my heart. The rest of me, though, feels like I need to properly grieve for you. I don't feel like I've grieved long enough. Then again, how does one determine how long one should grieve? And I'm afraid sometimes that my letters to Noah border on flirtation and I wonder if that angers you. I can't explain it, honestly, but I just feel a connection to Noah. Perhaps it's because we've known each other for so long or perhaps it's because he's taken such great care and concern for me and for Carolyn since you died. I care about him, Sam. I care about him __so __much __and I shouldn't. Not the way I feel, anyway. It's not proper. I can't help the way my heart pounds when a letter from him arrives and I can barely wait to read it. Sometimes, I think about him and imagine that our futures are linked. As soon as I catch myself, though, I banish those thoughts and berate myself because it's horribly inappropriate. Actually, it's just horrible. He's Quinn's beau and I'm your wife. I can't let myself feel this way, especially not only a year after you died. I see young widows around me getting quickly remarried and I judge them because I don't feel like they're grieving properly. Then a letter comes from Noah and I forget about everything but reading and writing back. I'm not better than those women, Sam. And I'm not honoring your memory, am I? _

_As I look at the words I've written, I feel dreadful. I'm a terrible person for feeling this way about a friend of ours. I'm so sorry, Sam. You deserve better. I'm going to do better. I can't do this anymore. I can't feel like I'm not being faithful to your memory. I need to solely focus on our daughter. _

_Love,_

_Rachel_

* * *

_July 24, 1943_

_Dear Rachel,_

_I thought about you all day on July 9. I know how hard it must have been for you. It was hard for me, too. It seems like forever ago because so much has happened since Sam died. And I keep thinking about that day and everything that happened and how fast it was all over. Sam was a good friend to me and I'm always going to be happy that we were friends. _

_I know it's really difficult but it __has__ been a year and you have to stop being hard on yourself. If you feel a certain way about something, let yourself feel it and don't beat yourself up. You can't let yourself wither up and die just because your husband died. You deserve to be loved by the right man as long as he's worthy of the woman that you are and can love you and Carolyn with everything he's got. You can't go the rest of your life without being kissed and touched. You're young and you're __so__ beautiful and it's okay to want to feel the pleasure of a man's touch again. It's not wrong so don't make yourself feel like it is. _

_Stop being your own worst enemy. Live your life because it's yours and nobody else's. And you know I'm always here for you. Always._

_Noah_

He had to hold himself back from telling Rachel that _he _was the man she needed. It took every bit of his strength not to tell her right then and there that he wanted to be _the _one that loved her and would bring her pleasure. He'd imagined himself bringing her to the brink over and over again during the many nights he'd spent curled up in his foxhole. He hadn't had sex in so long that he usually tried not to think about it at all but lately, as he found himself falling more and more for the woman that was so far away, his mind would inevitably go there. He knew he was a talented lover and in his fantasies, Rachel would cling to him and plead for him to touch her. Sometimes, those fantasies about her were all that got him through. His gut told him that his choice of words in the letter probably went too far but he couldn't bring himself to stop and re-write it. Sam was gone and he was _very much _alive. He just hoped Rachel wouldn't be upset with him because he actually had a lot more he still needed to tell her.

* * *

**Next up**: Rachel responds to Noah's bold letter and Quinn gets wise to the feelings between Noah and Rachel.


	8. Late 1943

**Author's Note**: I've noticed an uptick in traffic for my other two World War II Puckleberry stories ("We'll Meet Again" and "All This and Heaven Too") so thanks!

* * *

_August 22, 1943_

_Dear Noah,_

_It took me a long time to respond because I honestly didn't know __how__ to respond to the things you said. Noah, I know we're friends and that we care for one another but your words… what you said crossed all lines of propriety and I think you know that. I enjoy our friendship but you can't talk to me like I'm your girl or your lover. Those words should be for Quinn and __Quinn alone__. I hope that you simply spoke out of turn and that you realize that you and I are friends and only friends and that we mustn't break out of those boundaries. _

_I know, however, that crossed a lot of boundaries, too. After I received your letter and started thinking about everything, I realized that I've discussed things with you that I probably shouldn't have, considering that you're Quinn's beau and I'm the widow of your best friend. Sometimes, I forget that I shouldn't tell you everything and I'm sorry that I've put you in the position I have by sharing so many personal details with you about my life and my emotions. It was out of place and gave you a false sense of where we stood, I believe. Perhaps from this point on, we shouldn't discuss anything that could be construed as risque or intimate and stick strictly to safe conversation more appropriate to the relationship that we have._

_Cordially,_

_Rachel_

* * *

Noah read the letter, his chest tightening as he read over her words. She was pushing him away. She was angry with herself and him and he was at a loss on how to respond. What did he say after that? He'd gotten so close to telling her how he really felt and the way she reacted to what he _had _said told him all he needed to know about how she _didn't _feel. She'd poured her heart into her letters for the past year and now, because he couldn't help the way he'd felt, she was regretting it all. As he read her letter for a second time, he couldn't help the feeling of rejection that settled over him. He supposed he was putting his emotions on the line to a point in the hopes that she'd take the bait and tell him that _he _was what she needed. But she hadn't and based on her words, she wasn't ever going to.

He looked away, out towards where the guys were congregating for smokes and as he did, he folded up the letter and shoved it deep into his bag. For a year now, he'd been trying to let Rachel know how much she meant to him without crossing any lines. They'd been sharing details for so long and he knew he loved her. He'd loved her for a while now, probably before she married Sam. Hell, probably even before she _met_ Sam. And after a year of letter-writing and dreaming about her, part of him had wanted to know where he stood and _if_ he had a chance with her. Now, thanks to his own stupid mistake, he no longer had to wonder. He didn't stand _anywhere_.

Noah strode over to the guys and took a cigarette from Mike's outstretched arm. He lit it absentmindedly and stared out across the open field, his mind back on Long Island.

"You okay, Puck?" Mike asked after studying him for a moment.

Noah looked down, scrubbed the toe of his boot into the dirt, and nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Mike shook his head and looked at one of the other guys. "Puckerman here has enough dame trouble for three or four guys, I think."

"Oh yeah?" the other guy prodded, a leering grin on his face.

Noah ignored them both and when one of the guys made a joke about the local barmaid that half the platoon had already slept with, the entire group broke into laughter and promptly forgot about Mike's comment. Noah listened to the guys laugh, thought about Rachel's words again, and quickly came to a decision. He'd made a promise to Sam that he'd had every intention of keeping but his big mouth (or was it his loose pen?) had made him try too hard and say too much. So really, as far as he could tell, he didn't really have a choice. He wouldn't write her back this time.

…

_September 9, 1943_

_Dear Ma,_

_I've got to ask you something and I can't really go into a lot of detail so please don't ask, okay? Can you check in on Rachel for me every once in a while? I said some things to her that I don't think she liked because she was mad when she wrote me back. I'm just going to let it go and not bother her anymore because I think it's for the best. If you could just drop by to make sure she and Carolyn are okay and let me know that they are, I'd appreciate it. It's all I can do from here and I really don't know how to fix things without making everything even worse at this point._

_Thanks,_

_Noah_

* * *

The first week after Rachel sent the letter, she held an internal battle with herself. Had she been too harsh? Had she said too much? Did she really mean what she'd said to him? She replayed the words over and over in her head and began anticipating what he would say in return. Would he apologize? Would he explain himself more? Was he angry with her?

Her mind was a jumble of emotions. Guilt. Anger. Frustration. Love. Even lust. As August turned into September and the days stretched into weeks, Rachel found herself anxiously awaiting the arrival of the mail each day. She found herself watching out the window, her eyes on the mailbox, just waiting and hoping for a letter from Noah to tell her that everything was okay and that he wasn't mad at her. She knew that the mail could sometimes take weeks to get back and forth depending where Noah was so she didn't let herself worry at first. But three weeks after she sent the letter and after she knew she was starting to scare the postman with the way she seemed to pop out of her house as soon as he put her mail in the box, the little nagging worry that had haunted her took root deep inside and blossomed.

_September 14, 1943_

_My dearest Samuel,_

_I don't know what to think about anything anymore. I haven't heard from Noah in over three weeks and the more I think about what I said to him in my last letter, the more I regret it. I think I lashed out at him because his words were so very true. I do want those things he mentioned. I __do__ want to be loved and touched and held. I am too young to live alone for the rest of my life. I do miss the touch of a man. I want so much to feel loved and needed. I've tried to ignore those feelings and desires since you died, Sam. I felt like, to be true to your memory, I needed to solely focus on Carolyn and being the best mother possible. And while that has definitely been my focus, I seemed to forget for a while that I was a woman, too. I miss being kissed. I miss feeling strong hands on my hips. I miss that shiver that runs down my back when my dress is being unzipped. I miss waking up in someone's arms. And the worst part of all of it and the reason I acted so harshly is because I think that want those things __with__ Noah and that's absolutely the worst possible thing for me to want. _

_Even re-reading what I've just written makes me feel physically terrible – like I could be sick. I shouldn't feel this way so soon after you died, I absolutely shouldn't. But after you were gone, he became my rock, even from so far away. Carolyn Ann made me want to live again. Noah made me want to care about looking pretty or getting back into my interests. He made me want to feel normal again and a part of me imagines a life with him. Carolyn needs a father, Sam, and Noah would be so good with her, I just know it. And now I've pushed him away and as much as I'm aching to write him again, I know I can't. He belongs to Quinn and I still love you. I do, Sam. I will always love you. I'm just so afraid you'll hate me if I move on and try to find happiness again._

_I'm so conflicted. I wish you were here._

_I love you and miss you, _

_Rachel_

* * *

_September 15, 1943_

_Dear Quinn,_

_I hope you're okay over there. I'm sick of this war and I'm so tired. I've seen a lot of really bad things lately and I don't know how I can handle it if this goes on forever. I haven't slept in a bed in months, the nights are getting cold, and I'm worn out. I miss home and it hurts to even think about everybody there right now. I've lost several buddies lately and sometimes I'm afraid that I'm not going to make it home, either. Sam didn't. My friend, Eddie, isn't going home either. Who's to say I will? I have to keep trying, though. For Ma and for Sarah and for you and for – well, for everybody._

_Okay, got that out of my system. I'm sorry. I'm just really unhappy these days. I can't remember the last time I was ever this unhappy but I promise that my next letter will be in better spirits. Things are just bad right now and I don't know how to get my mind in a better place to make everything easier to deal with. _

_Keep yourself safe,_

_Noah_

* * *

_September 30__, 1943_

_Dear Noah,_

_Your last letter broke my heart. I pray for you constantly and I got to church every Saturday, light a candle, and say the Rosary for you (yes, I know you're not Catholic but I have a feeling that in times like these, it doesn't matter so much.) And then I get a letter where you seem so down in spirits and I'm helpless to do anything to make you feel better. All I can tell you is that you're going to make it. I know you, Noah, and you're strong. I wouldn't love you if you weren't. You're going to be fine._

_To put you in better spirits, I'll tell you about things going on here at home. I visited with your mother last week. She was nice but sometimes, I really don't think she likes me much. We had a nice visit, even if it was uncomfortable, and then I went to Rachel's. Carolyn was sick with the flu so Rachel hasn't been able to leave the house in a few days. (I'm sure she's probably telling you all of this in her letters so forgive me if it's repeat information.) She just seemed different, though. She seemed distracted and sad, even. She was so sad for so long after Sam died and then she got happy again but now, I don't know. I hope she's just in a mood and she'll pull out of it. Most likely, she was just tired because Carolyn was sick (and according to Rachel, the poor baby had spent nearly two days vomiting. She was finally sleeping soundly when I was there.)_

_That's really all I know. But remember – you're going to be fine and you're going to come home to me._

_I love you,_

_Quinn_

* * *

_October 9, 1943_

_My dearest Samuel,_

_I'm weary today. First Carolyn had the flu and then I came down with it and then Mother, who came over to help me, got it, too. Now that everyone is on the mend, I keep expecting my spirits to improve but then they don't. I haven't felt this sad and low since you died. I have no idea how to pull out of it, either. I've been singing at the USO as much as I'm able and while it helps for a little while, it doesn't last. Noah's mother stopped by yesterday and I nearly cried when I saw her. She was so sweet and she took Carolyn and insisted that I take a nap, which was wonderful. She's so amazing and I wanted to ask her how Noah was but I couldn't because I was afraid I was going to start crying. The way she was watching me tells me that she knows that Noah isn't writing me anymore, either. _

_I miss him, Sam. I lost you and that killed me. And now I've lost Noah and, while I'm thankful that he's at least still alive, he's no longer in my life and it hurts. It hurts __so much__. I didn't mean to push him away. I never meant to make him feel the way I apparently did. I just wish that I could have been honest with how I was feeling. Guilt over cheating on your memory and hurting my friend were both just too powerful to fight. I've started to write him on about four different occasions but I always end up tearing up the letter and throwing it away. I can't find the words to say what I need to say. I'm even ready to admit that I care for him romantically but I can't because Quinn would hate me. She would __hate__ me, Sam. And what if Noah was only being so caring and concerned for me because he felt like he had to in the wake of your death? What if I've misconstrued a sense of duty as romantic feelings? _

_None of it matters now, though. He hasn't written to me in two months and he's not going to. I suppose that when the war's over and he comes home, he'll marry Quinn and that will be the end of that. I'll be at their wedding and I'll be happy for them, even if he's still angry with me. And really, I shouldn't be upset. I shared a love with you and it was a beautiful, wonderful love and I have a baby girl who is about to turn one because of it. She's my greatest joy, Sam, and the reason I get up every morning with hope in my heart. Some people never find love at all so I need to be thankful that I did. My heart will heal over what's happened with Noah in time, I'm sure of it._

_I just wish I could feel better. I hate crying._

_I love you and I miss you,_

_Rachel_

* * *

He thought about her a lot. Most of the time, she showed up at the worst times, too. Noah was in Italy now, having arrived in early September with elements of the Fifth Army. Resistance was fierce and in just a few days, the fighting he'd seen in Africa was a mere memory, pushed down by the sheer force of the Germans they were facing in Italy. They dug in quickly, Noah deep in his foxhole, and they waited. They could hear the enemy moving through the brush and the attacks, the heavy fire and the shells that seemed to make the trees explode into thousands of flying toothpicks, would send them running for their lives. He'd be dashing through the thicket, his hand on his helmet to keep it on his head while a prayer left his lips, and he'd think about her. He'd even make a deal with God that if he got through this one last attack, he'd give her up and let her go as long as he knew she'd be okay. Inevitably, though, that attack would stop and another would start and he'd feel like he was repeating himself all over again. _Just one more time... Just this last attack…_

When things finally quieted down and he got a few hours of sleep, he'd shake free of her for the time being. He wrote letters to his mom and to Quinn and he tried to focus on keeping his gun ready and his pack by his side. He shared smokes with the guys and they laughed at dirty jokes and shared stories about all the broads they'd slept with back home. Usually, though, one of the men would start waxing poetic about his girl waiting in Iowa or Illinois or California. Where didn't matter because the words are what hit him and Noah's heart would sink, his mind landing on Rachel again. It was a cycle and he couldn't shake it. Finally, he just stopped trying. He loved her. He missed her. And _if_ he made it home alive, he'd ask her to forgive him.

* * *

_October 15, 1943_

_Dear Noah,_

_I need you to be completely honest with me. I just came from Rachel's house, where we had a pleasant dinner and I got to play with Carolyn. Right before I left, we had the most perplexing of conversations and now I'm completely confused. I was mentioning my latest letter from you and was asking her about when she'd heard from you last and she became nervous and upset and told me that you were no longer writing to her. When I asked her what happened, she told me that it was "complicated" and then she started crying. She was obviously not going to share anything with me so I left but I need to know what's going on. She's been really upset for a long time and now I have to wonder if that doesn't have something to do with you. What's going on between the two of you? You've been so concerned with her and always ask about her and part of me thinks that you have feelings for her. I've actually wondered that for a while because your letters were tapering off and you weren't opening up to me. Do you have feelings for her, Noah? Is that why you won't ever talk about a future with me, because you love her? I think I deserve to know._

_Quinn_

…

Noah read Quinn's letter and the air whooshed from his lungs in a rush. He was sitting on the ground, leaning against a burned out German Panzer tank, resting after a day of patrols. For once, they were maintaining an area they'd already captured and he wasn't on the front lines.

He could tell how angry Quinn was just by how sharp and hurried her handwriting seemed to be. She usually took care with her penmanship, the words flowing and beautiful, but the angry way her letters scrawled across the page told him that when she'd written him, she'd been more furious than he'd ever seen her. The guilt that had been eating at him for months roiled up from deep within and he groaned. Part of him thought about pretending that the letter didn't ever arrive. The rest of him, though, knew that he couldn't do it anymore. He may not be in Rachel's life anymore but she was still never far from his thoughts and he was tired of pretending. Deep down, though, he was afraid that he wouldn't make it home. He'd seen too much death lately and could even identify it by the stench of spilled blood mixed with gunpowder that lingered in the air. If he didn't make it home, Rachel would never know that he'd loved her. He had to tell somebody, even if it mean breaking Quinn's heart in the process.

_November 5, 1943_

_Dear Quinn,_

_I didn't know how to answer your letter at first. Part of me thought about telling you what you wanted to hear but I finally just decided to come clean even though I know it's going to cost me a lot by doing it. I'm going to answer your question the best way I know how. _

_You're right about all of it. I'm sorry, Quinn. I know you've wanted a commitment out of me and I haven't been able to give you one, which isn't fair to you because you deserve one. But you're right. I love Rachel. I have for a while and I upset her and haven't even written to her in months but I still feel that way about her._

_I know you're upset and angry and hurt. I'm really sorry. Please don't take this out on Rachel because she's never said or done anything to indicate that she feels anything but friendship toward me. This is __all__ my fault._

_I hope you can forgive me,_

_Noah_

* * *

Rachel's eyes were closed, the sound of Artie Shaw and his band swirling around her and helping to lull her into a nap when she heard the knock on the door. Jumping up quickly so that the knocking didn't wake Carolyn, she tugged it open and was met with a red-faced Quinn.

"Can I come in?" Quinn asked, her words cold.

Rachel nodded and stepped aside. She watched as Quinn entered and noticed that the taller girl's fists were balled, her posture ram-rod straight. Quinn silently walked into the sitting room and then spun on her heel, shoving a piece of paper into Rachel's hand.

A confused look on Rachel's face prompted Quinn to say, "Read it."

Rachel nodded silently and glanced down at the paper. When she recognized Noah's handwriting, her heartbeat quickened. As she read his words, her eyes filled with tears, her hand lifting to cover her mouth. Finishing the letter, Rachel raised her eyes and looked at her friend, who was now standing there with tears on her cheeks.

"I can't believe this, Rachel," Quinn said, her voice quiet but calm. "All this time that I've been writing him, you've been going behind my back."

Rachel shook her head, thrusting the letter back at Quinn. "No, Quinn! You _knew _we were writing each other. How have I gone behind your back?"

"I don't know what you've been saying to him but you said _something_," Quinn's voice rose as she spoke, "to make him stop caring about me and fall in love with you. When he left for the war, he loved _me. _I know he did. But now? Now he wants you. And how _dare_ you! Your husband – _my __cousin_ - is barely cold in the ground and you're moving in on my boyfriend?"

Rachel gaped at her friend, her heartless words stabbing at Rachel's gut. "I've done nothing of the sort! I haven't even _heard _from Noah since his last letter in August!"

"Yes, well," Quinn snorted softly, "you obviously matter more than I do because even when you're not writing him, he's more interested in you than in me!" Quinn turned away from Rachel and Rachel watched her shoulders shake as the girl started crying heavier. When she turned back around, her tears couldn't mask her anger. "I can't believe this, Rachel. I've known you were a lot of things but I never thought you were a tramp!"

"What?" Rachel gasped, her tears clouding her vision. "Quinn! How dare you?" Rachel squared her shoulders and glared at the other woman. "I know you're upset and I'm sorry. I never, ever meant for this to happen. I have avoided anything having to do with Noah _for months_ despite how much I've missed him because I didn't want you to get hurt. I cared enough about you and your happiness to ignore what I was feeling but I can't help how Noah feels about me and I can't help how I feel about him. And I will _not _let you stand in my home and call me names that you know aren't true." Rachel took a deep breath and then added, "Now please kindly _leave._"

Quinn's eyes dropped to the floor and her shoulders wilted as if she were defeated. Pushing past Rachel, she dropped the letter from Noah to the floor and slammed out the front door. When she was gone, Rachel stared after the door in shock. What on earth had just happened?

Carolyn's cry startled Rachel from her shocked state and she rushed to the baby's room, quickly picking her daughter up from her crib. "Shhh," Rachel whispered into Carolyn's hair. "It's okay, sweetie." Rachel soothed her daughter, who had fat tears rolling down her cheeks. Pressing a kiss to Carolyn's forehead, Rachel let her own tears fall, too.

…

_November 24, 1943_

_My dearest Samuel,_

_Quinn despises me, Sam. The words she said were so horrible and so untrue! I never meant for Noah to develop feelings for me and I was never angling to steal him from her. I've been trying to be a faithful wife to you, even in death. How I feel about Noah is no secret and I can't help but let my heart pound and smile when I think about it. He loves me. He wants to be with me. I never expected to fall in love again so soon after losing you but I have. I hope with all my heart that you're okay with this. If you're not, I'm so sorry. I fought these feelings for as long as I could but they're out in the open now and I can't ignore them anymore. I love him and I want him to come home and raise Carolyn with me. _

_I still love you, Sam. You'll be in my heart and in my mind forever. I'm not saying goodbye to you and I'll continue to write you because you're so important to me. I hope that I have your blessing and that you realize that, of all the men in the world, there are none more suited for me than Noah. But I have to live my life and I don't want to do it alone. Noah loves me and I know that he'll be wonderful to me. He cares and he'll take great pains to make sure Carolyn and I are well-cared for. I have to let the guilt go, though. You're dead and I'm still very much alive. I promised you when you died that I would continue to live and I'm going to do exactly that._

_I need to write Noah a letter, Sam. I can't wait any longer._

_I love you and I miss you,_

_Rachel _

…

_November 24, 1943_

_Dear Noah,_

_I'm sorry if my thoughts are scattered and jumbled. I have so much to say and I don't know where to start. First of all, I'm so sorry that I upset you enough all those months ago that you felt the need to stop writing me. I've written you so many times and then thrown the letters away because I thought that you didn't want to hear from me again. I didn't mean to anger you. I was so confused and upset at the time that I didn't know what I wanted. _

_Quinn just left my home. She showed me the letter you sent and said some mean, hurtful things. I know you told her that you were solely to blame but that's not true, Noah. Had I not wanted to talk to you, I never would have returned your letters starting after Sam died. I'm to blame, too, in all of this mess. A few months ago, I wouldn't have known what to say but I do now. Perhaps it was for the best that we didn't communicate for an extended time period because it gave me a chance to think and figure out what I want._

_You__, Noah Puckerman, are what I want. I've felt so guilty for so long for having these feelings for you. After I lost Sam, I wasn't sure I could ever feel this way again. Actually, I didn't want to ever feel this way again. I had a wonderful life with Sam. I know you know what an incredible man he was and I don't have to tell you that the love he and I shared was real. I'll love him for the rest of my life. But what you said in the last letter I got from you was correct. I do deserve to feel love and to be loved again. I can't live the rest of my life alone just because I lost my husband when I was young. I always assumed my heart would heal and in ten or twenty years, I'd find an amiable man to settle down with. But then you started writing so frequently and you became such a comfort to me. From all those miles away, I knew you cared and I can't tell you how much that meant to me. I can't even pinpoint when my feelings for you shifted. You've been a friend to me (although quite antagonistic at times) since we were children and I have no idea when you became so much more to me but you have. I've fought my feelings for you for months and your silence only made my feelings more profound. I want you in my life, Noah, however I can have you. _

_I know you care about me, too. I know you love me and that fills my heart with absolute joy. I hate that Quinn is so heartbroken because she's been a wonderful friend to me. I hope that she will forgive both of us someday. When this war is finally over and you come home, though, I want you to come home to me. I want you to meet Carolyn and take me to dinner and show me the love that I know is already there. I want that so much, Noah. I won't lie and say that I don't feel guilty at times, like I'm doing a disservice to Sam's memory. I hope, though, that he would give us his blessing because you were a true friend to him and there is no better man to share my life with than you. _

_Now that all of that is out and I've stopped crying, I want to tell you that Carolyn is now walking and talking. Everything is either a "ball" or a "dog" and she also says "mama." I can't tell you how exciting it is! She's beautiful, Noah. You'll love her when you finally get to meet her and I know she'll love you. I have real conversations with her now. No, she can't exactly answer me yet but it's only a matter of time and she's very intelligent so I know she understands what I'm saying. _

_I'm still singing at the USO, too. Every time I see a man in a uniform (which is thousands of times a night), I think of you. _

_I'm going to end this letter and get it to the post office before I lose my nerve and tear it up. I hope you write me as soon as you can. Please keep yourself safe, Noah. So much bad news is all I hear and it feels like we're never going to win this war. Please keep fighting and stay safe and warm. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day so Happy Thanksgiving, wherever you are. I'll have more pie in your honor and you'll be on my mind and in my heart._

_Love,_

_Rachel_

* * *

It was Thanksgiving day, November 25th, back at home. The thought had flitted into Noah's mind as he'd woken up earlier that morning, pulling himself up out of the dirt and carefully looking out of his foxhole to make sure everything was calm before he stood and stretched. They were somewhere in Italy. He heard the name mentioned several times but it didn't really register; all he knew was that they were heading toward Rome and they had been for a really long time. The fighting had been fierce for days but there was finally a lull in the battle and several of the guys had climbed from their protective shelters and made their way toward the fire that was burning near the back of the line.

Pushing his way through the group of men, Noah stopped and outstretches his hands toward the fire. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually felt warmth in his bones and most of the time, he felt like he'd never get warm again. As he was rubbing his hands together and then pushing them back toward the fire again, Sgt. Schuester elbowed him. "So it's Thanksgiving back home," he said.

"Yes, sir," Noah answered. "Although I'm trying not to think about it."

A few feet away, Noah's buddy, Mike, let out a laugh. "Really, Puck? 'Cause _all_ I'm thinking about is turkey gravy. I started dreaming about it last night and I woke up with drool frozen to my face. I bet my mom's making a mess of it today."

Sgt. Schuester grinned at Mike and said, "Back home, I'm sure Terri's got three or four pies made up. It's been so damn long since I've had a piece of pie."

Noah couldn't help himself and he let out a lustful groan. "Pie," he lamented. "Don't fucking talk about pie, please. I can't handle it."

The group of guys, which was growing larger by the second, all laughed and the murmur of voices grew louder as the men talked about the food they were missing back home. The voices, though, blended with a whistling sound and Noah stopped cold, his ear turning toward the sky. He locked eyes with Sgt. Schuester just as the whistling grew deafening and he shouted, "Incoming!"

The men scattered toward their foxholes, desperate to escape the start of the latest artillery barrage. Noah ran as fast as he could, darting over trees and brush to get back inside his hole. His heart was pumping, white-hot fear zipping through his body. All he could think was _run, escape, faster. _He leapt over the remnants of a shattered tree trunk and just as his feet touched the dirt again, the ground shook and down he went. As he pulled himself back up, he could hear the telltale whistle of more shells coming in combine with the panicked cries for a medic off in the distance. The whistling, whirring sound grew louder when he was just a few feet away from his hole. _Almost there. So close. _The ground shook again, vibrating him so hard that his teeth rattled in his head. Pain ripped through his body and his voice cracked, a cry from somewhere deep within tearing desperately from his lips. Collapsing to the ground with a sickening thud, Noah's world went dark.

* * *

I'm sorry for the way it ends. *ducks* Just... stay with me?

**Next up**: Word about Noah reaches Long Island.


	9. November 1943 to April 1944

The voice on the other end of the phone was so frantic and sounded so fearful that Rachel has trouble deciphering the words. It was only after she coaxed the sobbing teenager to calm down that she finally heard the words that Noah's younger sister was struggling to get out through her tears. "Rachel, Mom asked me to phone you and tell you to come over to our house right away!"

Rachel's heart began to race in her chest and she nodded, hanging up the phone. Even though Carolyn was sleeping, Rachel woke her gently and shushed her when she cried. "I'm sorry, baby," Rachel cooed, "but we've got to go."

Laying Carolyn on the bed, Rachel quickly dressed her, her hands shaking the entire time. Sarah had been so upset and Rachel knew that it could only mean one thing: something had happened to Noah. As soon as Carolyn was ready, Rachel called a cab and then stood on the porch, bouncing Carolyn in her arms to keep the baby calm and as an outlet for her own nervous energy until the yellow car squeaked to a stop in front of her house.

As the car pulled away from the cub, Rachel tried not to ponder the very sobering thought that when she arrived at the Puckerman home, she would be told that Noah was dead. She _refused _to let herself entertain that morbid and horrifying thought for longer than a single second. The ride to the Puckerman home was only a few minutes away but by the time the cab slowed in front of the house, Rachel's nerves were frayed, her stomach feeling uneasy. After tossing some coins at the driver, Rachel slid from the car, Carolyn held tightly in her arms, and zipped up the walk. She only knocked once before the door was pulled open and she was met with Miriam's tear-streaked face. Carolyn squealed with glee and reached her pudgy fingers toward Noah's mother, who smiled sadly and took the girl from Rachel as she ushered them inside.

"What is it?" Rachel asked immediately, tugging her coat off and hanging it up. She turned and nearly ran into Quinn, who was standing in the entryway, chewing on her lip with her hands clasped together as she kept her eyes on the floor.

"Quinn," Rachel addressed her coolly.

"Rachel," Quinn answered back, her voice soft.

"Here," Miriam said, cutting through the tension between the two women. She thrust a small piece of paper into Rachel's hand and Rachel recognized it immediately, her fingers shaking so badly that she could barely grasp the paper.

A telegram.

_MRS MIRIAM PUCKERMAN, 718 SEWARD AVENUE, MINEOLA, NY_

_REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR SON PRIVATE NOAH PUCKERMAN WAS SERIOUSLY WOUNDED IN ACTION IN ITALY ON 25 NOVEMBER 1943 _

_YOU WILL BE ADVISED AS REPORTS OF CONDITION ARE RECEIVED_

_ULIO THE ADJUTANT GENERAL_

"Oh my God," Rachel gasped loudly, her eyes widening and darting from Miriam's face to Sarah's and then back again. Carolyn temporarily stopped babbling and tugging at Miriam's necklace long enough to look at her mother, a curious expression on her little face. Rachel covered her mouth as tears spilled over and she staggered away, dropping onto the davenport and putting her head in her hands. "No," she whimpered. "Not again. Not twice. I can't… I _can't_…" Looking up, she saw Quinn slump sideways into a chair and press her face against the fabric, her own sobs quietly shaking her body. Rachel's heart ached for her because, despite everything, she knew that Quinn loved Noah, too. Miriam looked at the two women, sympathy and pain written in every deeply etched line of her face, and then pressed a kiss to Carolyn's cheek. The toddler was watching her mother, her face becoming more and more concerned all the time until she finally whimpered, "Mama?"

Rachel looked at her daughter, whose own eyes were welling with tears at how upset her mother was, and put her arms out. Carolyn reached for her in return and Miriam put her down, smiling through her tears as Carolyn toddled toward Rachel. She reached her, wrapped her arms around Rachel's knees, and said again, her small voice full of alarm and fear, "Mama?"

Letting out a sob, Rachel swooped her daughter into her arms and pressed her face against Carolyn's chest, inhaling her clean, powdery scent. "Mama's okay," she soothed, trying not to upset Carolyn anymore than she already had. "Mama's just sad."

Carolyn seemed to understand, cuddling against her mother and silently sticking her thumb into her mouth. The room was quiet except for the sound of soft crying coming from all four women. Miriam paced back and forth, wringing her hands out of nervousness, until a knock on the door startled her.

"Oh! That's Rabbi Lehmann." Miriam rushed to the door, opening it and welcoming the elderly, Jewish holy man into their home. He spied the other three ladies and the child in the room, looks of recognition on his face as his gaze swept over the worried and grief-filled faces of Rachel and Sarah, giving them sympathetic looks.

"Ladies," he said softly, his voice gentle and kind, "we need to pray. Come." He stood in front of the davenport and motioned for the other women to gather near him. Casting a glance at Quinn, who was biting her lip, her eyes darting around uncomfortably, he said, "Are you Jewish?"

Quinn shook her head. "Roman Catholic, sir."

Rabbi Lehmann paused, his fingers scratching at the salt and pepper beard that clung to his chin, and then he nodded. "Our prayers go to God, regardless." Crooking his finger at Quinn, he smiled. "Come, join us."

Quinn smiled through her tears and stood up, joining the other women in front of the rabbi. Closing their eyes, they began to pray.

* * *

The whole world was out of focus. For a few brief seconds, his eyelids would open. He could see the shapes of people moving about the room, which was blindingly bright, but then his eyelids would droop closed once more. He could feel the pain; even with his mind surrounded by swirling, thick fog, the pain was real. His entire abdomen burned like he was being stabbed repeatedly with sharp knives. Had he not been so weary, he would have cried out or begged for respite from it all. Instead, he could just lie there and drift in and out of awareness, pain either jagged and brutal or dull and irritating.

Again and again, he fought to stay conscious. He could hear people saying his name, their voices urgent as they practically shouted, "Private Puckerman! Private Puckerman, can you hear me?"

He tried to answer. He tried to open his mouth but his jaws wouldn't move, what little energy he had would slip from his body, and he'd sink into darkness again.

* * *

_November 27, 1943_

_My Dearest Samuel,_

_Noah has been hurt in Italy. I don't know how badly and I don't know if he's okay or if he's unconscious or if he's dying. I don't know __anything__ and it's driving me crazy. Miriam got the telegram earlier today and Sarah called frantically for me to come over. It was heartbreaking, Sam. I could do nothing to comfort Miriam or Sarah when I was so terrified myself. Quinn was there, too, but we didn't speak. I felt so badly, though. I know that she loves Noah, too, and I can only imagine how heartbroken she must be right now. I feel sorry for my part in it but I can't change the way things are._

_I sent Noah a letter three days ago telling him how I felt. He hasn't gotten it, Sam, and now he's injured and I don't know if he'll ever get it. What if he dies thinking that I don't care about him? At least when you died, you knew that I loved you and that we were having a baby. If Noah succumbs to his wounds, he'll never know how I feel about him. I so desperately need him to know, Sam. I also need him to survive, heal, and come home to be with Carolyn and me. I try to refrain since there's a war raging but I find myself thinking about what life will be like should he and I get to spend it together and Sam, I think it will be wonderful. Noah's a bit rough around the edges but his heart is good and true. We could have a wonderful life together. I just need him to survive and come home to me. Oh, Sam, what if he doesn't? I don't think I can endure the thought._

_I'm so scared for him. _

_I miss you,_

_Rachel_

* * *

Noah's eyes popped open and he looked up. The ceiling was bright and white, lights hanging at even intervals down the long expanse of the room. Using his arms, he tried to push himself upright and then groaned as pain shot through him. Seconds later, a hand was on his bare shoulder and a young, kind woman in a nurse's uniform was standing over him.

"Private, I don't believe you're ready to sit up yet. You need to stay flat on your back."

Bleary-eyed and confused, Noah nodded. "Where am I? What happened to me?"

The nurse smiled at him sympathetically and patted his shoulder. "You're in an Army hospital in England."

Noah's eyes widened in confused. "What? How? I don't…" he furrowed his brow, searching his memory for what would lead to him being in a hospital. All he could recall was the whistling of incoming enemy shells and then nothing. "I don't remember what happened."

The nurse walked to the end of his bed and grabbed his chart. Flipping through it, she tapped her finger against it and smiled at him. "November 25th. Italy." Dropping the chart back where it was, she walked back up until she stood by Noah's shoulders and pushed his blankets back, pointing at his heavily bandaged chest and abdomen. "You, soldier, took massive shrapnel to your stomach and chest."

Noah glanced down at the bandages and then furrowed his brow, looking up at the nurse. "Can I talk to a doctor?"

The nurse nodded politely. "I'll send one right over."

Minutes later, a doctor stopped by Noah's bed and began to explain his injuries to him. Phrases like, "massive trauma to the abdomen" and "embedded shrapnel" made him wince. "And so, Private, you can't sit up for quite a while. Your stomach muscles have all been repaired, the shrapnel all removed, but you need to lie flat until they have a chance to heal more. You're only five days post-surgery. We've sewn you up as best that we can but you're going to have some scarring."

Noah took in the doctor's words, nodding, and then thanked the doctor. When he walked away, Noah tried to think about his injuries and what that meant but sleep overtook him again before he could really focus.

* * *

_MRS MIRIAM PUCKERMAN, 718 SEWARD AVENUE, MINEOLA, NY_

_YOUR SON PRIVATE NOAH PUCKERMAN HAS BEEN SENT TO A RECOVERY HOSPITAL IN ENGLAND_

_WOUNDS SERIOUS BUT PATIENT RESPONDING TO TREATMENT_

_YOU WILL BE ADVISED AS REPORTS OF CONDITION ARE RECEIVED_

_ULIO THE ADJUTANT GENERAL_

* * *

Slowly, he began to get better. His stomach and chest still felt like fire was ripping through his body whenever he moved so he stayed heavily medicated almost constantly. His foggy mind was a scary place sometimes. He thought about Sam a lot and how his injury was in nearly the same place where Sam had been hurt. He wondered how he got to live and Sam hadn't. He thought about his mom and how worried he knew she was. He knew that Rabbi Lehmann was by her side but he wished he had the energy to write her a letter to tell her he was okay. Most of the time, though, he thought about Rachel. He mainly just saw her face, smiling at him with her long lashes and wide, pretty eyes. Scenes from their past seemed to play into his mind like a picture show. He could remember them as children, him two years older, being clearly annoyed at what a bossy, pushy little girl she was. He remembered her as a teenager, always trying to be the center of attention and singing at every opportunity. He pictured her at her wedding to Sam, remembering how he couldn't keep his eyes off her that day. She'd been so happy and so beautiful and when she'd introduced him to Quinn, she'd looked so pleased with herself. In his drug-induced haze, part of him wondered if he hadn't started courting Quinn just because it made Rachel so happy.

After a few weeks, the doctors told him he was healing nicely and began to wean him from the heavy doses of morphine. The throbbing in his gut was sometimes so powerful that he felt sick but he ignored it, refusing the medicine they _did _offer, so that he could start to get control of his thoughts again. His chest hurt from missing Rachel so much and he avowed that as soon as he got better, he was going to write her again. It had been months and he couldn't handle it anymore. He wondered if she was worried about him even though she didn't care about him anymore.

One morning, Noah had been carefully rolled to his side and he was eating his oatmeal when two nurses cautiously escorted a tall man in an arm cast onto the bed next to him. Once they were done fussing around him and had the blankets tucked in around him and breakfast sitting in his lap, they left the man alone. He settled in with his breakfast and looked over at Puck.

"Hey," he said, nodding his head.

"Hey," Noah replied. He let his gaze fall to the man's arm. "What happened to you?"

"Shot," the man answered. "In Italy."

Noah pointed to his bandages. "Artillery shell in Italy."

The man winced and then leaned over, sticking his healthy hand out to shake. "Private Finn Hudson, 82nd Airborne. From Long Island, New York. You?"

Noah's eyebrow arched. "No shit? I'm from Long Island, too." Wincing, he stretched slightly, extending his hand. "Private Noah Puckerman, 1st Armored Division, but you can call me Puck."

Finn smiled and turned his attention back to his oatmeal. Noah did the same until Finn said, "So what part of Long Island?"

"Mineola, you?"

"Oyster Bay," Finn answered.

"No shit?" Noah answered again. Grinning and feeling better than he'd felt in weeks, the two injured men began reminiscing about home.

* * *

When a stack of letters was dropped on Noah's lap, he forced himself to sit up slightly, wincing and groaning until he had to drop back flat again. "Fuck, that hurt," he complained.

From the next bed, Finn snickered. "You really need to listen to the doctors, Puck. They tell you not to sit up, you _don't_ try to sit up. It's not hard."

Noah rolled his head toward Finn and rolled his eyes. "Shut up, man. I got hurt a fucking month ago. I feel like I should be better by now." Scowling and with a slight pout on his face, he added, "Besides, I got excited. I haven't gotten letters in a long damn time." Grabbing the small stack, Noah held them above his head so he could read the addresses as he flipped through them. Two from his mom, one from his Nana Connie, one from his sister. The last one, though, made him stop short: Rachel's handwriting and her return address. The other letters fell from his hands and fluttered around him, completely forgotten, as he tore open the letter from Rachel dated November 24. Once he began to read, the smile that appeared on his face was unmovable. And suddenly, he wanted to get better more than ever.

* * *

_December 24, 1943_

_Dear Rachel,_

_First of all, I'm okay. I know you've probably been told that I was hurt and I'm sure you're really worried but I'm okay. I'm going to make it. I'm going to have a big scar and may have to deal with learning how to do some things again because I'm really weak and can't get out of bed much but I'm going to be __fine__. _

_I just got your letter yesterday. I know it took a whole month but it was sent to Italy and then they had to find me here. That letter was worth the wait, though. It was the best thing I ever read. I'm sorry I got mad way back in September but I didn't think you wanted anything to do with me, really. Not the way I wanted anyway. And I'm real sorry Quinn got upset with you because you didn't deserve it but I'm not going to worry about her anymore. When I get home, I'll go see her and tell her I'm sorry but I want to be with you. You're __all__ I want, Rachel. To be with you and Carolyn is the only thing that I can think about. I love you. I know you already know that but I get to tell you that finally. When I get home, we can talk about everything but it's important you know I love you a lot._

_I can't write much because the medicine they give me makes me tired and I'm about to fall asleep even thought it's the middle of the afternoon. Please write to me when you can, okay? _

_Love,_

_Noah_

_P.S. Christmas is tomorrow. Don't forget about the slimy dough things at the Chinese place and eat some for me. Hopefully next year, we can go there together again._

* * *

_January 10, 1944_

_Dear Noah,_

_I started sobbing the moment I saw your letter in the mailbox. I was literally standing on the street, crying my eyes out. I'm positive that Mrs. Ellison next door thinks I'm insane but I couldn't help myself. I've done nothing but worry about you since the moment I found out about your injuries. Actually, I've been worrying myself sick for months before that, too. I don't want to dwell on all that, though. I want to focus on the fact that you're alive and you're going to be okay (you're going to be okay, right?) Hopefully you're feeling better since you wrote that last letter and that you're quickly recovering. I can't imagine the pain you've had to go through since you were hurt and it breaks my heart knowing you're so far away and don't have anyone around that cares about you. Are the doctors and nurses good to you? Do they see to your needs? Are you being fed well? Are you in a lot of pain? Once I have answers to all of these questions, I promise that I'll calm down._

_I've been spending a lot of time with your mother. I think I just need to be close to her in case she gets any more telegrams updating her on your status. Plus, she's wonderful because the entire time we're with her, Carolyn won't leave her side. She bought Carolyn a doll last week and Carolyn insists on dragging it everywhere and sleeping with it. She even named it "kitty" since everything, and I mean __everythin__g right now is a "kitty." She loves your mother just as much as she loves mine. She loves Sam's mother, too, but she's distant with Carolyn and it's sad. I honestly think it's hard for Eleanor to look at Carolyn and not see Sam. While she's a comfort me, I almost feel like she's a painful memory at times to Eleanor. I hope that changes because I want Carolyn to have a relationship with Sam's family. _

_I must confess that I told Miriam about everything regarding you, Quinn, and myself. As it turns out, she apparently suspected that you were romantically interested in me and had been for a while. She said that she liked Quinn and thought that it was sweet the way Quinn loved you but that she knew you would never marry her. I honestly thought you would and I think Quinn assumed that, too. Once Quinn found out you were going to be okay, she disappeared and I haven't seen her since. I've thought about going to her house but I truly don't know what to say. She said some terrible things to me that perhaps I deserved but I'm truthfully not in the mood to forgive her yet. I can't help what's happened and while I still feel guilty about a lot of things, I can't say that I want things to be different than they are right now (other than the fact that I want you to be healed and healthy and not stuck in a hospital bed.)_

_That being said, I find myself completely distracted some days by the idea that you love me. How can something that I never realized I wanted until recently make me so happy? It does, though, Noah. I care about you so, so much and I can't stop hoping that you'll be coming home soon. They won't send you back out to fight once you're healed, will they? If they do, I may have to get General Eisenhower on the phone and let him know what I think of his decision-making skills. I want you home, Noah. I want you to come back to Long Island and drive your cab and go with me to get coffee (I finally can get it again, despite the rationing!) I want you to go with Carolyn and me on our evening walk through the neighborhood. I just want you to __be with me__. I love saying that, Noah. It fills me with so much hope an excitement! _

_I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get here. I know that Sam's been gone for a year and a half and I think I'm finally in a place where my grief is manageable and I can truly live again. I write him letters regularly, just like you suggested, and it does so much good. I truly think that if he had to choose someone for me to be with, it would be you._

_Please get better soon. I want you to come home to all of us (but especially me) as soon as you can._

_Love,_

_Rachel _

* * *

_January 29, 1944_

_Dear Rachel,_

_I love getting letters from you again. I can't tell you how much one letter makes it all better. _

_So I can tell you to stop worrying. The doctors and nurses are taking good care of me. I'm finally up and walking after two months of basically being stuck in bed. I have no energy and the doctors say it's going to take me a while to build my strength back up and make my muscles strong again. I promise that I'm eating lots of food, too. I'm getting better all the time and then I hope I can come home._

_I made a buddy since I've been here. His name is Finn Hudson and he's in the next bed over right now but he actually lives a few towns over from us on Long Island. I don't know how we never met before except he went to a different secondary school from us and he's a year younger. He's a nice guy. He got shot up in Italy, too. I've talked to him about a lot of things and it's been good. He knows all about you. _

_I'm sorry that I put you in a tough spot with Quinn. I really didn't mean to hurt her. I'll make it right if I can, once I get home. Do you know how weird it feels to know that when I do come home, I'm coming home to you? I know things aren't anything like we planned nearly two years ago now. It's scary how much it's changed – how much the war has changed us all, really. But I knew that after Sam died, you'd make it and you'd be okay. I know Carolyn has helped and I can't wait to meet her. My Ma says she thinks of her like a granddaughter. I hope that doesn't scare you or worry you it's just that Ma knows that I love you and she loves you and Carolyn and I guess that's just how she feels. _

_I don't know if I'm going to get to come home once I'm healed or if I'll be sent back to the line. I know the war's not over and that they need me but you need me, too, and I think you know that right now, I feel like I've already done enough in this war. _

_It's time for my afternoon walk (with the help of a nurse because I'm still not very strong.)_

_I miss you and I think about you all the time._

_Love,_

_Noah_

_P.S. Please try not to call General Eisenhower if I have to go back to the front, okay? I know all about your temper and I'm afraid that if he found out about you, he'd call you into service and then __you__ would win the war all by yourself. _

* * *

_February 10, 1944_

_Dear Noah,_

_Every letter from you makes me feel better than the previous letter. Your spirits are up and you're healing and before you know it, you're going to be home. Miriam promised chicken and dumplings once you return, too, since they're your favorite and I'll be sure to remind her. (I've never had her chicken and dumplings but my mouth is watering just thinking about it.) _

_I'm so glad you've made a friend while you're convalescing. I am sure that helps your mental state and everything leads to you healing quicker and recovering. I miss having a friend, honestly. As you're aware, I've never been one to make friends easily and, aside from you, Quinn was one of the few that I did have. I still see some of the ladies at the Red Cross on the occasional Saturday that I get to go in and help volunteer and I'm friendly with some of the girls from the USO but I don't have any real friends anymore. I almost phoned Quinn the other day just to see if she would talk to me but decided that it's too soon. Miriam said that she called her to check up on her but that she was short and not interested in conversation. I was admittedly put off because she was rude to your mother while Miriam has been nothing but wonderful to her. _

_Onto important news, Carolyn has a new word. "Wa-er." Yes I know that's not __actually__ a word but she actually means "water" when she says it. Noah, she's so funny. I think I laugh out loud at her at least three times a day. And when I laugh, it makes her smile and start to giggle and then we both just giggle. I never thought I could have such wonderful conversation with a tiny child, either. She can't speak to me fully yet, no, but she listens and I can tell that she understands. She's a very intelligent little girl. _

_I will admit that I've found myself worrying a lot lately about what happens after you get home. I know that this isn't the time nor the place to talk about those things but as you know, I love to plan and prepare for things. It's hard to prepare for the future when I don't really know what it holds now. I'm doing the best I can, though. I just want you to get home. If I call Gen. Eisenhower and he finds out my special skills, will that mean you come home faster? If it will, tell me and I'll ring him up immediately._

_I miss you and I can't wait until you're back here again. Please continue to heal and get strong._

_Love,_

_Rachel_

_P.S. I love that your mother thinks of Carolyn like a granddaughter. _

* * *

_February 11, 1944_

_My dearest Samuel,_

_The most horrible thought has occurred to me lately. What if, once Noah gets home, he discovers that he doesn't love me but only the __idea__ of me? What if he fell in love with who I am in my letters but not the person that I am? I'm aware of my personality quirks that make me different. I still have to question how it was that you fell in love with me because we were complete polar opposites yet we worked. What if Noah and I don't work? What if we only work in theory? What if, even worse, we're one of those tragic stories where two people fell in love through correspondence but when they were put together in the same room, they had nothing to say to one another? Admittedly, I've never had a problem finding something to say but you know what I mean. I know that he loves me, Sam, but will he love me when he comes home? I think that's why I'm still so terrified to pour out my heart to him in every letter. I just want this war over with. It's cost me too much already and I'm tired. _

_I miss you so much,_

_Rachel_

* * *

_March 1, 1944_

_Dear Rachel,_

_I had a dream about you last night. You were on stage singing and when you were done, I walked up to you and said hello and you didn't know who I was. It was kind of awful. I woke up fast because it was really like a nightmare. I'm sure I've changed since I left home two years ago but I haven't changed that much. I feel like I might get to come home soon so maybe I'm just nervous? I just want to get back to New York. I never thought I would miss driving my cab but I do. When I get home, though, I may think about doing something else. A man can't support himself for the rest of his life on cab fare and tips. Plus the hours aren't great and I think I'm going to want to make sure I'm home in the evenings. Please don't worry about what's going to happen when I get home, though, okay? I want to be with you. That's all that matters. I want to take care of you and teach Carolyn to ride a bicycle and read her bedtime stories. Things are going to be fine. In fact, I have a feeling that they're going to be pretty great – and I'm not just saying that. You and I have gone through a lot in the last two years and it's changed us both but I think it's changed us in the same ways. So please don't worry, okay? I love you now and I'll love you when I get home._

_My sister wrote me a letter again. Apparently all you have to do to get your little sis to write you letters regularly is get halfway blown-up. She's moved onto some boy named Jacob that works at the factory. He's 19, which is way too old for her. If you want to tell not to date until I get home and can check this guy out, I would support that. I'm not ready for my sister to grow up, Rach. _

_I've been doing a lot of exercises lately to get my chest and stomach muscles working right again. It really hurts, by the way. The wounds are healed but the scars are red and swollen. I guess I need to count myself lucky because it could have been a lot worse. I'm going stir crazy, though. I've been staring at the same four walls for months. I think Finn and I have talked about everything that has ever happened in our entire lives twice over now. He's healing really fast and he may get to leave before I do. Once we both get home, we're going to go out for a drink. It's crazy that he lives just a few miles away. I feel like I've known him my whole life already. He reminds me of Sam in some ways, honestly. I think you'll like him when you meet him._

_I hope you're doing okay and that Carolyn isn't wearing you out. You need some time to yourself, you know? Is she getting into everything now? _

_It's dinnertime and I'm starving so I'm going to sign off and get this mailed. I hope that I'll be coming home soon. We have a lot of things to do and I want to take you on a real date._

_Write soon._

_Love,_

_Noah_

* * *

_March 16, 1944_

_Dear Noah,_

_I hope you know that your dream was ridiculous. I picture you constantly and I'll have no trouble recognizing you when I finally see you, no matter how much the war has changed you. I may act like a complete dolt when I see you and throw myself in your arms so I hope you're prepared. If you're still too injured, tell me now because otherwise, I might hurt you. I think about you all the time, it seems. I just have so much I want to say to you and ask you but I don't put it into these letters. Some things, I want to say when I can look into your eyes and touch your face and feel your arms around me. Some conversations are best had in person. I honestly am terrified, though, that when you get home, you might not want me anymore. What if you see Quinn and you fall in love with her all over again? A lot of things could happen between now and then, you know. I know that you and Sam were best friends and part of me is afraid that our neighbors will judge me harshly. That's ignorant, I know. They're all well aware of what happened to Sam but still, you know how people talk around here. _

_I'm going to stop worrying because I'm letting my fears get the best of me, which is never good. Carolyn and I are about to head to Mother and Daddy's for dinner and a few radio shows. It's nice to sit around and relax. Mother bought Carolyn a block set to keep at her house so I'm sure we'll be tripping over blocks all night. Carolyn has recently made it her mission to get every single pot and pan I own out of the cabinet every day. When I try to stop her, she throws the biggest fit I've ever seen so I just let her do it. I probably shouldn't but oh, well. She's happy when she's clanging pots together and trying to make me deaf so I'm not going to stop her. A happy baby is a healthy baby, right?_

_I better go get changed and get Carolyn ready to leave. Please take care of yourself. I miss you and I think of you all the time. It's nice to not fight it when you pop into my mind anymore, too. Telling myself I didn't care when I truly did was really difficult. Loving you openly is quite nice._

_Come home to me soon._

_Love,_

_Rachel _

* * *

_April 07, 1944_

_Dear Rachel,_

_You're insane. _

_There, I said it. But you are insane. Stop worrying, okay? I never loved Quinn…and what I felt for her is nothing like what I felt for you. I'm going to love you even more once I get home and get to see you again, okay? And that's going to be sooner than you think because I got the best news today. I'm coming home. They said I'm healed enough to finally come. For a while, I thought they might send me back to the unit and if they did, I would understand because there's still a war to be won and I hate the fact that I've had to leave all my buddies out there to fight while I'm stuck in here. The doctor told me today that I'm healed up enough to come home, though, and I'm not going to argue. I'm not sure when we're leaving (Finn's getting to come home, too) but we should be on a ship back to America in the next week. I can't believe I'm about to come home. I haven't been home in over two years. I'll finally get to have my Ma's cooking again. I've dreamed about her chicken and dumplings and she better have some for me once I get home._

_I can't wait to see you and to finally meet Carolyn. Are you going to be mad if I kiss you as soon as I see you? I know it's not appropriate since I've only been courting you through letters but I have to tell you that I really don't care about what's appropriate and what's not. Never have. Thoughts of you are pretty much all that got me through these past few months and since I'm finally getting to come home, you can give me that big hug you've been wanting to. I'm healed enough and I think I can handle it. And I'm going to kiss you and I can't promise I'll ever stop._

_I'll see you soon. In the meantime, take care of yourself and Carolyn. _

_Love,_

_Noah_

* * *

**Next up**: Homecomings and reunions.


	10. April 1944

Noah always imagined that when he finally made it home, the sun would be shining and he'd spend the first twenty minutes back home sucking good, smoggy American air back into his lungs. But when he and Finn disembarked from the troop ship that had brought them and hundreds of other injured American soldiers back home, rain was coming down so hard that the streets were filled with little rivers of rushing water. He and Finn looked at each other and then darted toward the nearest building, their packs slung over their backs. Once they made it under the cover of a barbershop awning, Finn was panting and Noah's wounds, although technically healed, were throbbing from the pain of pushing himself.

"What now?" Finn asked, his eyes on the torrential downpour that has left the city streets deserted despite the fact that it was nearly 6pm in the evening.

Noah thought for a minute and then suggested, "Call a cab? We just need to get to the train station and I'll be damned if I'm walking in this."

The owner of the barbershop let them use the phone and, while Finn was putting in the call, asked Noah all about his service and why he was home. Pointing at his abdomen, he offered, "Shrapnel, Italy. Tore me up. I'm okay now, I guess but no good to Uncle Sam anymore." He cut off his words before he could add a, "Thank God," because as much as he's glad to be home, part of him still felt guilty that the men from his platoon were still out there slogging through the Italian mud, fighting the unrelenting German forces.

The cab picked them up within minutes and dropped them off at the train station where they hopped a train to Long Island quickly. Neither man said much as the train chugged its way toward home. Finn stared out the window and Noah tapped his foot nervously against the metal floor of the train. He was _so _close to seeing Rachel that he almost couldn't handle it. His stomach was in knots and all he wanted to do was hold her but before he could, he had to stop by home. As much as he was craving seeing Rachel, his mother would gut him with a steak knife if he didn't show up at home first.

He and Finn shook hands at the train stop, made plans to meet at a diner for dinner in a few days, and then headed off in different directions. Noah walked the five blocks to his mother's house briskly, his coat over him to shield off some of the rain. When he stepped onto the porch, he shook off some of the rainwater and then turned the knob and pushed the door open without knocking.

Inside, the house was calm. He could hear the radio on in the kitchen and when he stepped inside and set his pack down on the floor, he heard a noise in the sitting room. Turning around, he locked eyes with a tiny little girl. She was dark-haired and had delicate features. Her big eyes peered up at him curiously while she clutched her doll in one hand and dug her little fingers into the davenport cushion with the other.

Recognition hit him like a fist to the gut and he found himself stepping into the room and crouching down on one knee. She looked like the perfect combination of Rachel and Sam. When she eyed him nervously and clutched her doll tighter, his chest tightened and he grinned.

"Hi, Carolyn. I'm Noah," he said softly.

In the kitchen, he heard a gasp and then a cup clatter to the table. Footsteps signaled his mother's arrival and he stood up when she stopped in front of him, letting out another gasp and then a strangled cry before she pushed herself into his arms.

"You're home! You're here! You're really here," she cried against his shirt.

Noah hugged her back, his eyes on Carolyn, who was now toddling toward them. "I'm home, Ma. I told you I'd come home."

Just then, he heard footsteps clattering down the stairs followed by a shriek. He braced himself for the inevitable impact and when Sarah flung himself at him, she pressed her face into his shirt and cried, no words coming out. Normally, his family wasn't the affectionate type but that time, he didn't mind when two of the four most important women in his life cried all over his nice dress shirt.

Carolyn was now thoroughly confused and she walked up to Noah, tugging on his pants. "My doll," she told him, holding up the doll still grasped in his fingers.

Miriam unwound herself from Noah and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief, smiling down at Carolyn. Sarah finally let go and leaned against the wall, a smile plastered to her face. "Noah, meet Carolyn," Miriam said.

"We've met," he answered, crouching down again. Carolyn pushed her doll into his hands and he took it, his face curling into a relaxed smile. He turned the doll over and over in his hands, pretending to study it with interest, before he looked back at Carolyn with a grin. "I like your doll. You want her back?"

Carolyn nodded and Noah handed it back to her. She wrapped her arms around it and then stuck her thumb in her mouth, pressing herself against Noah's leg. He reached down and picked her up, holding her close.

"She looks so much like Rachel," Noah said softly, gazing at the little girl who was now fiddling with his tie, curiosity on her face when she started to tug at it.

"She does," Miriam answered, pride in her voice as if Carolyn were truly _her _granddaughter. "I'm watching her because Rachel's singing at the USO tonight. Oh, you'll get to see when she stops by to get Carolyn!"

"Nah," Noah answered. "I'm heading over there. I can't wait any longer, Ma. I've waited long enough to see her."

Miriam nodded knowingly and patted the hand Noah had around Carolyn's legs. "She likes you. She's not around a lot of men other than her Grandpa so she's a little skittish….but she likes you." Looking up at her son, she smiled. "That bodes well for you."

Noah let out a deep chuckle, relief so strong in his blood at being home that it nearly knocked him over. "I hope it's good for me, considering…" he let his words fade because he wasn't going to make assumptions about himself and Rachel just yet, even if he did have certain hopes for their future.

Not letting go of Carolyn, Noah followed his mother back into the kitchen and watched her stir a big pot of stew. His stomach growled when the aroma of pepper, potatoes, and carrots wafted around him.

"Mamaw?" Carolyn's little voice interrupted and Noah looked at her, his eyes wide.

Miriam smiled. "She started calling me that last week." Turning toward Carolyn, Miriam stretched her arms out and Carolyn went to her. "Drink, please?" Carolyn asked.

Noah leaned against the counter and watched Miriam move around the room, getting Carolyn a drink. Carolyn held the big cup in her hands carefully and then tossed her head back, getting water in her mouth and on her shirt.

"She's really beautiful," Noah commented, his chest tightening further. "She's…" He was totally in awe of the tiny little girl and he already felt insanely protective of her.

"She's Rachel's carbon-copy," Miriam interrupted. "She's wonderful, Noah. She'll warm up to you more and then she'll never leave your lap. And she's quite the little cuddler." Turning her attention to Carolyn, Miriam tickled her under the armpit until she squealed.

Grinning, Noah tore his eyes away from Rachel's daughter and said, "Okay, where's the USO? I gotta get over there, Ma."

Miriam put Carolyn down and then rattled off the address. He pressed a kiss to his mother's cheek, bent down and hugged Carolyn, and then snagged Sarah for a kiss to the cheek before he headed out the door, his heart beating in time with his rapid footsteps. He was heading _back _to Manhattan.

* * *

It was dark by the time Noah made it back to the city. He'd snagged an umbrella from his mother as he headed out the door so he was dryer than before but the standing water in the streets meant that his feet were still soaked through, his shoes doing nothing to fight the massive amounts of rain that seemed to be falling from the sky.

When he slipped inside the USO, he shook the water from his jacket and checked it, along with his umbrella, with the coat check girl. Smiling, she said, "Welcome, soldier!"

Noah nodded absentmindedly at her, his mind on finding Rachel. The club was _full _of men in uniforms and girls dressed prettily, their hair done up and rouge on their cheeks. The huge room was dimly lit but a spotlight illuminated the stage, where a singer was just finishing up.

Walking up to the refreshment table, he caught the attention of the woman behind the table. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Rachel Evans," he said.

She smiled at him. "You and every other soldier. She's just about to perform. Take a seat and she'll be up in just a few minutes."

Noah furrowed his brow at her comment about him and every other soldier but shrugged his shoulder and headed through the crowd, finding an empty seat about a third of the way back from the stage. Just as he sat down, a man came out onto the stage.

"And now, for your listening pleasure, please give a round of applause for Rachel Evans!"

The crowd erupted with applause and Noah looked around, his eyes wide and a bit confused at Rachel's reception. She seemed to have a fan base amongst the soldiers. Before he could give it another thought, she stepped out onto the stage and he forgot about everything else.

She was wearing a deep green dress that brushed against her calves, the waist cinched tight. He'd forgotten how completely tiny she really was. He could just imagine that when he let his hands bracket her waist, his fingers would practically touch because of how petite she was. Her hair was pulled up off her face and piled on top of her head, her face clean of make-up except for lipstick. She smiled at the crowd before stepping up to the microphone. "I want to thank you all for coming tonight and for your wonderful service to our country. I know a lot of you men are just home for a short time but some of you are hopefully home for good now. The first song I'm singing tonight is dedicated to my own soldier, who's on his way home right now."

Noah's breath caught in his throat and he had to stop himself from standing up and waving his arms like a lunatic to get her attention. When the music started, he forced himself to relax and lean back in his chair despite the fact that his heart was pounding.

When she began to sing, her voice was clear and beautiful.

_If you are but a dream_

_I hope I never waken,_

_It's more than I could bear_

_To find that I'm forsaken._

_If you're a fantasy_

_Then I'm content to be_

_In love with lovely you,_

_And pray my dream comes true._

_I long to kiss you_

_But I would not dare,_

_I'm so afraid that_

_You may vanish in the air,_

_So darling,_

_If our romance should break up,_

_I hope I never wake up,_

_If you are but a dream. _

He'd forgotten how amazing she sounded but listening to her and knowing the song was for him filled his mind with a convoluted jumble of thoughts – all this night of missing her, all the letters they'd exchanged, all his fears about her never loving him the way he loved her. And then his mind settled on her last letter and he calmed himself. She was _his. _As soon as she was done singing, he was going to claim her.

When her voice swelled with the last note, he closed his eyes as a shudder ran through him. The room erupted into applause as the music died away and before he could help himself, he stood up and let out a loud, wolfish whistle that caused her head and half the audience to swivel their heads in his direction. Rachel put her hand over her eye to block out the spotlight and when her eyes focused on him, she gasped. He read her lips when she whispered, "Noah." Seconds later, she was running toward the end of the stage. He pushed his way through the mass of men in uniforms and painted-up girls, moving toward her as fast as he could until they met in the middle, Rachel throwing her arms around him. Just like he'd promised her in his letters, he put his hand beneath her chin and tilted her head up, kissing her for the first time. The spotlight landed on them and he didn't care because Rachel wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers digging into his shoulders so hard that there would be marks, and kissed him back with bruising intensity. When they parted, tears were streaming down her cheeks.

"You're here," she said softly, her eyes never leaving his face. Her brown eyes were wide and swimming with emotion but her smile was brilliant and eased his fears immediately.

"I'm here," he answered in a voice choked with the emotion that he was careful to never let show.

Rachel let out a tearful, happy cry and pulled his head back down for another kiss. Applause surrounded them again but they were paying no attention to the fact that it was directed at them until they heard a voice coming from the stage. "Folks, I think we can assume that Rachel Evans is done for the night. Let's give her and her soldier a round of applause and call up our next singer…. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Mercedes Jones to the stage!"

Applause rang out again but Rachel and Noah both ignored it. Looking away, Rachel wound their fingers together and tugged him along behind her through the thick crowd until she was standing by the coat check. The girl behind the counter grinned at both of them and handed them their items. They silently donned their coats, their eyes never leaving each other's faces, and then Noah offered Rachel his hand again. She took it, smiling up at him, and they stepped out into the rainy Manhattan night.

The street was much quieter than it had been when he arrived and they walked for nearly half a block before Rachel let out a breath, her voice shaky. "I can't believe you're here! You're mother's going to be so excited when she finds out! She's—"

Noah cut Rachel off. "I've already been home. I stopped there first."

Rachel stopped walking and turned toward him. "Oh! So you've met Carolyn?"

Nodding, Noah moved closer to Rachel. He _could not _stop looking at her. His eyes searched her face before he said, "She's adorable, Rachel. She even let me hold her."

Beaming, Rachel pushed herself up on her toes and pressed her lips against Noah's again. "I can't believe you're really here," she whispered against his mouth. Stepping back, she said, "Let me look at you!"

Noah laughed and, despite the rain, spread his arms open wide and said, "See, all in one piece!"

Rachel's eyes roamed over his body and she shook her head. "You don't look like you were injured at all!"

He put his hand on his abdomen and said, "It's all here. I'll show you someday."

Biting her lip, Rachel slipped to his side again and he wound his arm around her. "I can't believe you're really here, Noah. I'm just… I knew you were coming home but now you're here and we have so much we need to talk about. There's _so_ much to figure out. I mean, where are we going to take this relationship? Are we going to just see one another for a while and let things move slowly or are we going to accept the fact that we want to be together and move things along fast? And I'm going to have to break it to Sam's parents that I'm potentially entering in a relationship with you and I just don't know to process everything or what it all—mmmmpphhh—"

Noah slammed his lips against hers, mainly because he wanted to shut her up but also because he was still desperate to kiss her. When he pulled back, she was staring at him with her mouth open. "Listen, doll," he said, nudging her with his shoulder before he dropped his arm across her shoulders and tucked her against his side, shielding her further from the rain that was still falling, "we've got plenty of time to figure it out, okay?"

Rachel nodded, quieting the voice in her head that demanded a resolution to everything that very instant. She took a deep breath, focusing on the beating of her heart, the sound of the rain, and the wonderful warmth seeping from his arm into her shoulders. "Okay, Noah, I trust you," she said with a smile.

"Good," he said smugly. "I'll never lead my girl wrong."

Rachel smiled at the shiver his term of endearment caused within her and she stopped them on the sidewalk again, reaching up to kiss him again. When they parted, he brushed his lips across the tip of her nose and then over her cheek. His breath was hot on her ear when he whispered, "I love you, baby."

Tears clogged Rachel's throat immediately and she nodded, her mouth taking his again until she had to pull back for air. He smiled down at her and she wiped a tear away as she said, "I love you, too, Noah."

Despite the rain and the fact that he was chilled to the bone, he linked their fingers again slowly and they meandered their way down the street. "Hey, doll," Noah said after a few minutes, "what do you say we go for some coffee?"

Rachel bounced on the balls of her feet and nodded. "Coffee sounds _fantastic_, Noah."

* * *

_April 21, 1944_

_My dearest Samuel,_

_Noah's home! He's really home. He came back yesterday and found me at the USO. I made a complete spectacle of myself, Sam. I truly did. I ran off the stage and kissed him in front of everyone. Was that positively wanton? I couldn't help myself. When I saw him, I felt like my heart was going to explode from joy. I was so afraid that he wasn't going to make it home, even after I got his letter stating that he was coming. He's so beautiful. I know that it's ridiculous to call a man beautiful but he really is. He looks so healthy and strong, despite his injuries, and I just couldn't take my eyes from him. Once we finally left the USO, I swear we made mooneyes at each other at night. We went to this little diner a few streets away from the USO and talked for __hours__ over coffee. He talked a lot about his recovery and I caught him up on some of the small things that have been going on. We still have so much to talk about. We haven't even broached the subject of our future together and what that holds for us. Right now, I think we're just taking some time to bask in the idea that there aren't thousands of miles to separate us. _

_He told me he loved me. Yes, he's said it in letters but to hear it come from his lips was… I can't even describe it. I can't believe I'm in love again, Sam. And I can't believe I'm in love with a friend I've known since childhood. He's wonderful._

_I do hope that you're okay with all of this. It still worries me that you'd be upset by it all but now, I can't help how I feel. My feelings are so deep for him already and now that he's home and we can try to see where this will go, I have to follow it through to the end, whatever that may be._

_I miss you and I hope against hope that you wouldn't be upset by the choices that I've made,_

_Rachel_

* * *

Noah was just climbing into his bed as the sun was rising over Long Island. After he and Rachel had gone for coffee, they'd talked for hours before finally taking a cab back to his house. She and Carolyn had left for their house in the early morning hours and then he'd fallen into a deep, heavy sleep.

When he awoke, it was after 2pm. He pulled himself out of bed, slipped into some pants, and headed downstairs. His mother was moving about the kitchen but she stopped short, her eyes on his abdomen, when he walked into the room.

He glanced down and then scowled. "Sorry, I forgot about that."

Miriam walked over to him, her eyes never leaving his abdomen, as her eyes took in the slashes and gashes that made up his scars. "It's not as bad as it looks, Ma," he offered after a moment.

"That's a lie and you know it, young man," she barked, her voice betraying the worry she held for her firstborn. She reached her fingers out and touched the angry read scarring and then pulled back and looked at him. "Does it still hurt?"

Noah didn't miss a beat when he answered, "Yeah, all the damn time. It's better than it was but it's always… there. I can always feel it. The doctor said it would take a long time for the muscle damage to heal itself."

"So what happened, honey? I mean, do you remember it?"

"Not really," Noah answered. "I remember the sound of the shells and I know I was trying to get to my foxhole but being actually hit? I don't remember any of it. It's all just blank."

"That's probably for the best," Miriam said authoritatively. Glancing up to look at her son's face, she asked, "What are you plans today?"

"Rachel," he answered immediately. "Heading over there."

Miriam beamed and clasped her hands together. "Then I don't want to keep you. Get moving, soldier!"

…

Twenty minutes later, Noah was walking up the steps to Rachel's house. When he knocked, the door opened immediately and Rachel smiled up at him. Her hair was swept off her face again and her beauty made him forget to take a breath. She'd always been beautiful but now…. He didn't know if it was time apart or motherhood or maturity but _something _had transformed her into a woman so breathtaking that he never, _ever_ wanted to look away. Stepping inside her small house, he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around. It was the first time he'd been inside the house since before he and Sam left for the war over two years ago. And now Sam would never be there again. It was, he admitted to himself, very strange.

"Come in, Noah," Rachel said, urging him farther into the house.

"Where's Carolyn?" he asked after a moment.

"She's napping," Rachel answered. "She'll wake up in an hour or so and then, if you'd like, you can play with her for a while. I'm excited for her to warm up to you." The room settled into quiet and Rachel blew out a breath finally, her voice full of nervous laughter. "Why is this so awkward right now?"

Noah shrugged. "I don't know. I'm honestly… I'm thinking about how the last time I was here, I was listening to the radio with Sam. It's… I mean, I know he's gone; I was there when he died. It's just that now I'm back in his house and he's not here and he won't be here and…" He sighed. "It's just strange. Especially because now I'm sitting here and I'm totally in love with his widow."

Rachel smiled at him, her hand reaching out and squeezing his fingers even as her eyes gave away her uneasiness. "Will you tell me about the day he died?"

"Are you sure you want to know?" he asked, his eyebrows arched in concern. "Are you sure you want the details?"

"Yes," Rachel said with confidence. "I know I didn't want to know the details at one time but now I'm curious. I mean, we're approaching two years since his death and I wonder… Was it fast? Was he in pain?"

Noah glanced down at the floor, his mind back in England and that horrible July day when everything was tilted on its axis and changed forever. "I was actually not with him but I got there right after the shell exploded."

Rachel gasped and Noah laced his fingers with hers and squeezed his hand. "Sam was moving an artillery shell that wasn't packed right. When he moved it, it…it blew up, Rach."

"Oh, my," Rachel whispered, her vision cloudy while she thought about the horrible pain that Sam must have experienced.

"I got to him as fast as I could," Noah said. "He was still alive when I got there but not for long. Rachel… before Sam died…" He paused and ran his hand over his head, his eyes on her. "Right before he died, he asked me to take care of you and Carolyn."

A gasp left Rachel's lips and she stared up at him, her eyes full of questions. "He did?"

"Yeah, he did. I don't know if he just asked me because I was his best friend or because…" Puck looked at Rachel. "Or because he knew that I cared about you more than I should have but he asked me just the same."

Rachel opened her mouth, no sound coming out, before she closed it again. A tear trickled down her cheek and she folded her hands in her lap. "Is that why the letters started? Out of your sense of duty to me because of Sam's request?"

Noah nodded quietly, unsure of what to say.

She took a deep breath, swallowed, and looked at him. "Does this mean that you're only here _because _of Sam?"

"What?" Noah asked, shock registering on his face. He stood up and moved until he was sitting next to her. "Baby, no." When she tried to shrug off his embrace, he pulled her tighter and reiterated, "No. Not at all."

Looking at him, Rachel swallowed hard. "I… It's just… I mean, part of me, I think, knew that you were stepping up and reaching out because of Sam's death and perhaps some misguided guilt that he had died and you had lived. But he…" her eyes widened, "…he asked you to take care of us?"

"Yes," Noah told her, squeezing her fingers hard between his in a show of affection. "And it's all I've ever wanted to do anyway." He placed his free hand under her chin and turned his head toward her. "I think part of my has always had a spark for you. I can't really figure it all out but I think, even before you and Sam started courting, I thought about you that way. But Sam made you so happy and I didn't want to do anything to mess that up." He paused and took a breath. "Things are different now and the war changed everything and the way I got here is really awful because I miss my best friend but I _love_ you. I _want _to be with you. It's all I want, okay?"

Emotion twisted through Rachel and she nodded and then pushed herself into his arms. Pressing her lips against his neck, she nodded and dug her fingers into his shoulders. "Thank you for telling me," she said, her voice muffled by his shirt.

He squeezed her knee and kissed her forehead. "I never wanted to hide it from you but I didn't really know how to explain it in a letter. Like you said, there are just some things we need to talk about in person."

Rachel agreed and let out a sigh, pressing her face into his collar again.

"So we're okay?" Noah asked in a halting voice.

"We're great," Rachel answered. "We're fantastic, actually."

* * *

_April 22, 1944_

_My dearest Samuel,_

_It's what you wanted, isn't it? Noah and I? From what he's just told me, it seems like that was your plan? You knew you were dying and that you didn't want me to be alone in the world? I'm in shock right now but I want to say thank you. Thank you so much. First Carolyn and now Noah. _

_Love,_

_Rachel_

* * *

Rachel should not have been nervous about the fact that she was hosting the Puckerman family for dinner. The Berrys and Puckermans had been interacting for decades with dinners and parties and gatherings within the Jewish community. Yet as she stood in the kitchen, the smell of cherry pie filling the small space, she chewed on her nail nervously, her eyes darting around to make sure she had everything. Noah, Miriam, and Sarah would be arriving soon and Miriam was bringing the main course of chicken and dumplings.

Turning her attention back to the stove, she stirred the potatoes and corn, making sure to turn them on the lowest heat setting. She smoothed her apron a few times and then scurried into the bedroom to make sure that her dress looked perfect and that she had not a single hair out of place. Walking back into the kitchen, she stared at the clock and waited.

The minutes seemed to tick by. Flitting from one side of the kitchen to the other, Rachel grabbed the dishes and then went to set the table. The silverware was placed meticulously straight next to each plate and then re-arranged three times until she was happy with the uniformity.

When the knock on the door finally came, Rachel nearly jumped from her skin. She walked down the hall quickly, threw the door open, and was nearly attacked into a hug by Miriam. "Where's Carolyn? Is she asleep? I'll just go check on her."

She disappeared down the hall and Sarah stepped in behind her, the heavy pan of chicken and dumplings in her hands. She smiled at Rachel and then headed into the kitchen to get the pan back on the stove and re-heated. Noah was last to come inside. He was in a pair of dark slacks and a button-down shirt in grey and he took Rachel's breath away when he smiled at her.

"Hi," she said shyly.

"Hey," he answered. They stared at one another for the span of a few seconds before he swept her into his arms, tucked a hand behind her head, and kissed her soundly. When he pulled back, her eyes were still closed, her face flushed.

"Been wanting to do that all day," he admitted softly, his forehead pressed against hers.

Rachel opened her eyes and locked her gaze with his intense hazel stare and couldn't stop the tremble that went through her. She knew desire when she saw it and _that_ look in his eyes was pure desire. She wanted to speak but had no idea what to say so she pressed her mouth against his again instead and let out a shocked squeaked when he turned them and pressed her against the wall, kissing her roughly before skating his lips down the column of her throat.

"She's awake!" Miriam announced in a singsong voice from the other side of the room. Noah pulled away from Rachel abruptly and shot a guilty smile at his smirking mother. Carolyn, still in her nightgown, squirmed in her arms before looking Miriam directly in the eye. "Down," she ordered, her little voice bossy and sounding a lot like her mother's.

Miriam laughed and set the little girl down, who ran over to Rachel and wrapped her arms around her leg.

"Hi, baby, did you have a good nap?"

Carolyn nodded and stuck her thumb in her mouth but then popped it right back out. "Water, please?" she asked, tilting her head up towards her mother.

Noah pushed away from the wall and bent down, swooping Carolyn into his arms. "C'mon, kiddo, I'll get you a drink."

Laughing happily, Carolyn wrapped her arms around Noah's neck and Rachel felt her eyes fill with tears as she watched them go.

Miriam stepped up next to her and linked her arms through Rachel's, her eyes following Noah, too. Once he had disappeared into the kitchen with Rachel's daughter in his arms, Miriam spoke. "He's going to be a wonderful father to her. You know that, right?"

Rachel nodded, swallowing down the tears that weren't yet clinging to her lashes. "I know. I can tell."

"He'll love her like she's his own, Rachel," Miriam added. "I think it's all he's wanted to do since she was born."

Rachel bit her lip to keep from crying and she smiled before Miriam wrapped an arm around her and tucked Rachel's head beneath her chin. Noah walked back in at that moment, Carolyn still in his arms and a bottle stuck between her lips.

"You ladies coming? I'm starving and Carolyn here just demanded I give her a piece of pie _right now._"

Laughing, Rachel let go of Miriam and walked over to Noah, reaching up to kiss Carolyn on the cheek. "You eat dinner first, baby, and then you can have pie." When she started to pull back, Noah caught her and bent to kiss her, too.

"C'mon, babe," he said. "Let's go eat. "

Rachel nodded and they all tromped into the kitchen. Sarah was stirring the pots and smiled when they came in. "I think it's ready!"

Food was placed in serving dishes and set around the table while Miriam got Carolyn set up in her high chair and pulled to the edge of the table next to where she would be sitting. When they sat down, everyone passed the food around and as Noah stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork, he said, "Hey, Ma. Can you watch Carolyn for us tomorrow?"

Rachel ticked up an eyebrow, her mind whirring because she couldn't recall anything she had planned for tomorrow. Noah grinned at her and then added, "We're gonna need a babysitter because tomorrow night, I start courting you _properly_."

Biting her lip, Rachel bobbed her head and then stared down at her lap, unable to wipe the smile from her face. It felt so good to be _so_ happy again.

* * *

**Author's Note: ** (channeling Chandler Bing) Could that _BE_ any fluffier? The song Rachel sang is "If You Are but A Dream." It was first released in 1942 but made popular by Frank Sinatra in 1944.

**Next up:** Noah and Rachel's relationship continues to blossom and Quinn comes back into the picture.


	11. Mid 1944

**Author's Note**: Originally, this was going to be the last chapter before the epilogue. I realized, though, that this was going to be exceptionally long and I still had a lot I wanted to write so I cut it in half. Now, there are two more chapters to go after this. And I'm sorry my review replies have been sporadic. When I get reviews while I'm sitting at my computer, I reply to them but then if they come in while I'm sleeping/working/etc., I struggle to get them done. But I thank every one of you for your words and support and I would hug each of you if I could!

* * *

Rachel didn't realize how much she'd been pacing until Carolyn walked up to her in the entry hall, put her hand on her mother's leg and ordered loudly, "Mama, stop!" Rachel glanced down at the tiny girl and then up at the door where she'd been holding vigil before laughing and picking Carolyn up and heading into the sitting room with her. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm just a little on edge. Noah's doing something right now that could be a huge disaster."

Carolyn perked up at the mention of the new man who had been around a lot in the past few weeks. "Noah come home?" she asked hopefully.

"He'll be here soon," Rachel promised as she sat down on the davenport, kissing the squirming girl's forehead before letting her go. Carolyn climbed off the davenport and sat back down in front of her blocks, intent on rebuilding the stack she'd knocked down after she was distracted by her mother.

Rachel remained resolute in her spot, her legs crossed but her knees bouncing from nerves so hard that Carolyn paused her intricate block-piling long enough to scowl at her mother. Seconds later, the sound of the door opening caused them to both jerk their heads in that direction.

"Noah!" Carolyn yelled happily, clapping her hands.

Rachel stood up and walked into his open arms and as soon as Carolyn pushed herself up off the floor, she was latched onto his leg. He hoisted Carolyn into his arms and kissed her cheek before turning to kiss Rachel on the lips and then they all walked into the sitting room together.

"How'd it go?" Rachel asked nervously.

Noah sat Carolyn back down on the carpet before dropping onto the davenport and pulling Rachel onto his lap. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cushion, his hand landing squarely on Rachel's thigh. As he spoke, his fingers gently squeezed the flesh beneath his fingers. "Well," he began. "It wasn't _quite_ as bad as being blown up by the Germans but it was… it… it wasn't good."

Biting her lip, Rachel leaned in to him and kissed his jaw. "Was she horrible?"

Noah sighed. "She acted happy when I first got there. She even smiled at me but I think that was out of instinct or habit or something, though, because once I started talking and trying to apologize to her for hurting her, it was like she flipped a switch." He brushed his lips along Rachel's cheek and then asked, "Did you _know_ how scary Quinn was when she was mad?"

Rachel snorted. "Considering she called me a tramp, I was aware that she could get the claws out, yes. And I told you that it wouldn't go well!"

"I know," Noah bemoaned. "But I owed her an apology just the same. Even if she hates me, I apologized and my conscious is clear now. She made me feel like a total creep and maybe I am but I can't help it. It happened and I'm not regretting it." He kissed Rachel on the lips softly before adding, "Not a bit."

Rachel smiled and laid her head on his shoulder. "I hope Quinn can forgive us both someday. I hate that she's so upset and that she feels betrayed. It's not like either of us had any intention of falling in love with one another. Contrary to what she thinks, I wasn't _trying_ to get my hooks into 'her man'."

"But you did anyway," Noah jabbed with a smile.

"Noah!" Rachel protested, smacking him on the chest. He chuckled and grabbed her hand, holding it in his before kissing her again. He cupped her head in his large hand and when his fingers pressed into her scalp to deepen the kiss, a shiver traced down Rachel's spine. When Rachel reluctantly pulled away, she glanced up at the clock and then bolted from Noah's lap. "We need to go! Mother and Daddy are expecting us!"

Noah stood and picked up Carolyn, who promptly protested because Kitty was still on the floor. He grabbed the doll and pushed it into her hands, laughing when she told him thank you and kissed his cheek. "C'mon, baby girl, let's go get you changed while Mama gets ready."

…

Noah had known Rachel's parents for as long as he remembered. Shelby and Walter had always been nice to him, even in his younger days when he was getting into trouble every time he turned around. When he walked inside their house, Carolyn in his arms, she had demanded to be put down and then ran to her grandma, who picked her up and rained kisses on her face while she shrieked with laughter. Noah watched the exchange and then squeezed Rachel's hand before she disappeared into the kitchen.

"Noah, come in here," Walter said from his chair in the sitting room.

"Sir," Noah answered, stepping inside and reaching over to shake the man's hand. Walter sat his newspaper down into his lap, put his pipe in the ashtray, and gave a small smile to the younger man.

"You adjusting to being back home?"

Noah nodded. "Yes sir. I don't sleep well. I keep having bad dreams but I haven't told Rachel that and I'd appreciate it if you didn't either, sir."

Walter nodded, understanding in his eyes. "I was shot in Germany in 1918 during the Great War. My brother died a few days later, just several hundred miles from where I was. I never really talked about it but the nightmares haunted me for years." He reached for his pipe and took a puff before meeting Noah's eyes. "What I'm trying to say, son, is that I've been there. If you ever want to talk about it, please come see me. I think, had I talked about it, I wouldn't have suffered for so long. I don't want to see you as upset as I was when I first come home. You have more on your plate than I did. I was young and single. You," he paused and nodded toward the kitchen, "I think, are about to have a family. Am I incorrect in that assumption?"

Noah shook his head quickly. "Not at all, sir. Rachel and Carolyn are what I want. Well, them and getting a job so I can take care of them."

Walter tapped his pipe against the ashtray and paused, looking pensive. "Yes, that's the other topic I wanted to discuss. I have some pull at the factory, obviously, and nothing would please me more than to help you get a job there, if you're interested."

"Really, sir? That…that would be great," Puck said, surprise on his face.

"I think, based on the fact that you're undoubtedly going to be my son-in-law before year's end, that it makes sense. Do you agree?"

Noah stood up and stuck his hand out to Walter, shaking it firmly when Walter took his. "Absolutely, sir. And thank you very much."

Walter smiled. "I'll still expect you to formally come to ask my permission before you propose, of course."

"Of course," Noah answered nervously.

"Boys," Shelby announced in a lilting voice when she stepped into the room. She paused, looking at the two men, and furrowed her brow, "Did I interrupt anything?"

"Not at all, Shelby," Walter answered. "I was just discussing with Noah here some of his plans for the future. Like you and I suspected, he's on the same page."

"Excellent," Shelby smiled knowingly at her husband. "Just excellent…and if you're done talking, please join us. It's time to eat."

Walter stood from his chair and motioned for Noah to follow Shelby. Walking into the dining room, he wrapped his arm around Rachel's waist and kissed the top of his head. She peered up at him. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, doll," he said with a relaxed smile, "everything's great."

* * *

Noah accepted a job at the factory less than a week after his talk with Walter. He was starting at the bottom but the owner seemed impressed with his Army service and promised him that he'd go far. Noah didn't really care too much where he was working, really. It was a good job and it paid more than he had ever made driving the cab. He would be able to save money quickly because the sooner he could buy a ring, the sooner he could get it on Rachel's finger. Even though he'd only been home less than a month, he hated leaving Rachel's at night to go back to his mother's house. He wanted to fall asleep next to her in the worst way but he wasn't proposing until he had his life together. With the factory job, everything would fall into place.

Eight days after he started working, Noah sold his cab and bought a 1941 Plymouth. Rachel was sitting on the porch watching Carolyn play in the yard when he pulled a stop in front of her house and climbed out, an enormous grin on his face. Patting the top of the car, he asked, "So whaddya think, Rachel?"

"Did you just buy this?" Rachel asked excitedly. Her eyes roamed over the gleaming black vehicle with the shiny, silver half-moon hubcaps and then looked back at him with awe on her face.

"Yup," he answered proudly. "Got rid of the cab. Figured I'd need a nice big car so I could take my girls out regularly. Wanna go for a ride?"

Rachel hopped out of her chair, nodding happily. "Just let me grab my handbag." She darted toward the front door and then stopped, swiveling back around to stare at him with wide eyes. "Oh! And shoes! Carolyn and I need _shoes_!"

Noah snickered as she ran into the house and then walked around into the yard, stooping down to Carolyn's level.

"Hi, Carolyn," he greeted, kissing the top of her head.

Carolyn looked up from the worm she'd been watching with intensity and smiled at him. "Hi, Noah!"

Noah grinned, the pronunciation of his name ("No-ahhh"), never ceasing to make him laugh. Picking Carolyn up, she protested and pointed forlornly at the worm she was being forced to abandon. Rachel shushed her as shoved shoes onto her daughter's feet before they all piled into Noah's new car.

When Noah started the engine, he tapped the dashboard. "She purrs, baby, she purrs. And she drives like a dream."

Rachel smiled at him, his happiness at having a new car infectious. She found herself grinning for their entire trip through Mineola. They drove around aimlessly for nearly twenty minutes before slowing in front of his mother's house.

"What are we doing here?" Rachel asked, glancing at the red-shuttered house.

"Dropping Carolyn off," he answered simply.

Carolyn clapped her hands together and wiggled her behind in her mother's lap. "Mamaw! Get to see Mamaw!"

Rachel, confused, glanced at Noah. "But why?"

"Because, doll," Noah answered as he pushed open the door, "you and I are going out tonight."

…

Rachel had always loved Manhattan at night. There was something about the bright, shimmering lights of the city that she found intoxicating. Even during wartime, the city gave off a vibrancy that, Rachel was positive, flowed through her blood. That's why she happily laced her fingers through Noah's as they stepped back out onto the sidewalk in front of Radio City Music Hall.

"Did you enjoy the show, Noah?" Rachel asked, their footsteps in time as they walked up 50th Street toward Broadway.

Noah shrugged nonchalantly. "A little too much singing for my taste but yeah, I guess it was okay."

"Well," Rachel prodded, a small smile curving her lips, "it _did _star Bing Crosby. Singing is usually expected wherever he's concerned."

"And can we talk about how we spent two hours watching a picture about a bunch of Catholics? We're _Jewish_!"

Rachel let out a loud laugh and squeezed his hand. "It was just a film, Noah, not a contract to convert."

"Yeah, still…" Noah protested, grinning when Rachel nudged at his bicep with her shoulder.

They were quiet the rest of the way up the street, both content to enjoy each other's company and the sounds of the city that surrounded them. Once they arrived on Broadway, though, Rachel's brilliant smile prompted him put his arm around her and hug her close. "What is it about this place, Rach? You get stars in your eyes the second your feet land on this street and you have every single time for as long as I can remember."

"It's just…" Rachel sighed, her eyes reading the marquees up and down the street. "It's just full of talented and creative people and I love the energy. It's…" She met his eyes. "I can't explain it. I feel like I belong here."

"Well, babe, don't you think maybe you should try to _be _here?"

Rachel shook her head. "What? No. _No. _I have a daughter who needs me at home. I'm not professionally trained. It's a _dream_, Noah," she said pointedly. "That's all."

Noah tightened his arm around her shoulders and bent to kiss her, his tongue pushing its way between her lips. When they parted, Rachel blushed and bit her lip, her eyes shifting to see if anyone had paid attention to the two of them as they shared such an intimate kiss in the middle of a Manhattan street.

"Look, doll," Noah stated once they started walking again. "Dreams become reality all the time. And if there's _anyone _on this damn planet that can make a dream come true, it's you."

Rachel scoffed and shook her head. "You have too much faith in me. Honestly!"

"No, I'm pretty sure I have just enough."

Rachel tucked herself against him and they headed back down the street toward his car, her mind still on his words.

…

Carolyn was asleep when Noah carried her into Rachel's house and into her room. He laid her on her bed and Rachel slipped her shoes off her feet and pulled the blanket over her before bending to kiss her on forehead. Together, they crept from the bedroom and Noah latched the door behind them.

"Thank you for the wonderful evening, Noah," Rachel told him as they walked back into the front of the house.

"Glad I got to take you out again," he said. "We do a lot of family dinners and just relaxing in front of the radio but it feels good to get out and have a night on the town."

Rachel pushed up on her toes to kiss his lips and then sighed contentedly, laying her head on his chest when he put his arms around her. He dragged his fingertips up her back until she shivered and pulled away slightly, tilting her head to look up at him. Their eyes met and held for a heartbeat before he dipped his head and pushed their lips together, a groan escaping his lips as the incredible need he felt for her shot through him. Rachel kissed him back with fervor, her lips relishing in his hard, demanding kisses. It wasn't until his hand slid up her side and cupped her breast in his palm that she finally forced her mouth from his, pulling away and stepping back. She nervously brushed at her skirt back and took a shaky breath.

Noah exhaled and slumped against the wall, watching her fidget nervously. "I'm sorry," he said. "I got carried away."

Rachel approached him and put her hand on his arm, her eyes imploring. "No, don't apologize. I _want _what we're doing, I do. I just need time. I need it to be… I just need the time to be right."

He stared at her for a moment before pushing from the wall and cupping her head in his hand, kissing her chastely. "I know, baby. I have all the time in the world. I'm just… I'm a guy that can't help himself sometimes. My girl's beautiful and classy." He bent and kissed her before adding, "And beautiful."

Rachel threw back her head and giggled. "You already said that."

"Just thought I'd throw it in there twice." Winking at her, he stepped toward the door and bent to kiss her one last time. "I better go before I beg you to let me stay."

Rachel nodded and hugged him before bidding him goodnight. When he stepped out into the cool late May evening, he sucked in a fractured and frustrated breath. He'd wait as long as she needed, even if that meant waiting until their wedding night. As he climbed into his car, he admitted to himself that he _hoped _it wouldn't be that long (considering it had been well over two years since he'd been with a woman) but for Rachel, he'd deal with it. _Somehow_.

* * *

_June 2, 1944_

_My dearest Samuel,_

_I had dinner with your parents tonight. They invited Carolyn and me over and I happily accepted, of course, because I do think it's important to still have a relationship with your family for Carolyn's sake. That being said, the entire evening was uncomfortable and awkward. Because I didn't want them to hear through the rumor mill about my relationship with Noah, I was forthright with them. Eleanor seemed to understand but George was, for lack of a better word, irritated with me. I tried to explain to them that it had been nearly two years since you died and that all I wanted was to be happy and for Carolyn to be happy and your father didn't understand why I would be ready to move on so quickly. Eleanor, God bless her, hugged me after George went in the den to smoke his pipe and confided that she understood. She said that all she wants is for me to have a full life and for Carolyn to be taken care of. Her worries, of course, are that you will be forgotten. I assured her that forgetting you would never be the case. Although Noah and I haven't talked about it because we are not quite __there__ yet, I have every intention of Carolyn knowing all about the man you were. You are, after all, her father. She has Noah wrapped around her little finger, which I expected because she's just a generally fantastic child, but I will never hide from her that you are her father. I know, given that Noah was your best friend and has nothing but the utmost respect for you, that he will agree with me. Without getting into too much detail, I recounted to Eleanor about the day you died and that you specifically requested to Noah that he look after us. She seemed shocked but once I told her that, she was much more accepting to the idea and promised me that she would work on getting George to understand. I've always loved your parents, Sam, and I want them to continue to be in Carolyn's life. She has three grandmothers and two grandfathers – I'd say she's a pretty lucky little girl. I __so__ want everyone to be okay with my decisions because Noah makes me incredibly happy._

_Love,_

_Rachel_

* * *

The world seemed to stand still on the 6th of June. Rachel had risen especially early after a fitful night of tossing and turning. When she turned on the radio, the normal broadcast that accompanied her mornings wasn't on and instead, the airwaves were filled with news of an Allied invasion of France. Rachel was standing in front of the radio, still in her nightdress and with a shocked look on her face, when she heard a knock on the door. She rushed to pull it open and found Noah standing there in his work uniform, his lunch pail in his hand. "Did you hear?" he asked as soon as she opened the door.

Rachel moved aside to let him pass and then followed him back into the kitchen. He stood close to the radio, not wanting to turn it up loud enough to wake Carolyn, his mouth open as he listened. "It's really happening," he said, his voice full of awe.

Rachel stepped up to him and he wrapped his arm around her waist, tugging her backward until she was pressed against his chest. "What does it all mean?"

Noah didn't answer for a few moments because he was listening to the broadcaster. "It means that this war could be over soon," he finally said.

Rachel tilted her head back and looked at him hopefully. "Really?"

"Yeah," Noah said. "Once we run the Germans out of France, they've got nowhere left to run but back to Germany. And once that happens, we're pretty much gonna win this and they don't have chance." He let out a heavy sigh that Rachel could tell was laced with frustration.

"Are you okay?" Rachel asked.

"My unit's probably in the thick of it, Rach. I don't know for sure but I _bet_ they are. Our tanks will be needed to run the Germans back. I just… I feel like I should be there."

"Noah," Rachel argued. "You served your duty. You fought bravely in Africa _and _Italy!"

Pressing a kiss to the top of her forehead, Noah wound his other arm around Rachel and nuzzled her neck, his body reacting to her close proximity and the fact that she was in her nightdress and there was nothing but soft flesh beneath it. He finally tugged her collar to the side enough to kiss the skin of her shoulder, his lips soft against her skin. Rachel shuddered, heat snaking through her, and closed her eyes.

"I know, doll," he said against her skin before he dropped a kiss along the side of her neck, "but part of me feels guilty that my buddies are still out there. But…" he paused and flicked the shell of her ear with his tongue, smiling when he heard her groan softly, "I'm where I need to be."

Nodding, Rachel slumped against him. Her body and her mind were warring these days. Telling Noah that they needed to wait for more physical intimacy was easy; making her body listen to her mind was an entirely different matter. Noah respected her wishes and never took things farther than she was willing and she knew that the moment when they would actually make love was drawing nearer each day. It was times like this, when it was just the two of them, that she nearly let her body take control over her mind. She had to summon all of her strength to keep herself from dragging him to the bedroom like some tawdry harlot. But it was the voice inside her head – the one that reminded her that physical intimacy was _sacred_ – that kept her on track. So when he nipped at her ear again and she shuddered, fire licking up her spine, she stepped away and went to serve him some coffee. He sat down at the table and hid his defeat, instead turning his attention fully back on the news pouring through the radio. While Rachel got her pounding heart under control, she poured them two steaming mugs and then sat down next to him. After thirty minutes, Noah glanced at the clock and stood up. "I've got to get to work but keep the radio on today, okay? Let me know what's happening and I'll be back as soon as my shift ends."

Rachel walked him to the door, sad to see him go. She hated that they didn't wake up together and knew that as soon as she told him she was ready, he'd come over and never leave again. Turning, he took her in his arms and kissed her. Before he pulled away, he cupped her behind in his hand, laughed when she squeaked against his mouth, and promised he'd be back soon. "I love you!" she called as he headed toward his car.

"Love you, too, doll."

Rachel waved at him, watching him pull out onto the street. Once his car had disappeared, Rachel closed the door and went back to the radio. Grabbing a few pieces of paper and a pen, she started jotting down names and places _just in case_ Noah would want to know later. She found herself sitting enraptured in front of her radio for much of that day. The war, she was sure after hours of listening to news and analysis, really _was_ about to change in their favor.

* * *

From the moment Rachel met Finn Hudson, she liked him. Due to Noah's schedule at the factory and Finn's job at his stepfather's automobile repair shop, it took Rachel nearly two months from the time he and Noah arrived home for her to finally meet him.

On a sunny Sunday afternoon, Rachel gripped Noah's hand as he led her into the diner. She saw a tall man waving from a back booth and Noah smiled, nodding at him as he tugged Rachel along. When they stopped at the table, the man stood up and shot Rachel a dimpled smile. She had to tilt her head back and look up at him because he was so tall. He was actually kind of imposing but his smile was genuine and his eyes were kind and she was immediately at ease.

Rachel slid into the booth next to Noah and met Finn's eyes. "It's nice to finally meet you, Finn."

"The pleasure's all mine, really, Mrs. Evans," Finn answered.

Rachel shook her head. "Call me Rachel, please. I'm not old enough to be referred to so formally."

Finn blushed slightly and then scowled when he saw Noah roll his eyes at him. Noah leaned back into the bench, his arm resting on the back of it, and asked Finn, "So how's it going? How's work?"

"Same as ever. It's like nothing changed from the time I left for the war until I got back. Burt's still fixing cars and when Kurt's home from college, he helps with the books. But it's still just mainly me and Burt. I don't know how he survived for almost two years without me."

The waitress stopped at the table and Rachel ordered a turkey sandwich while Noah ordered a hamburger and a double piece of Dutch apple pie. Eyeing him, Rachel laughed when he smirked at her and reminded her just how much he loved pie. After Finn ordered himself a bowl of soup, the waitress left them alone again.

"So, Rachel, I've heard a lot about you. I think you were the only thing that got Puck here through his hospital stay."

"Really, Finn?" Noah said, embarrassment in his voice. "You're gonna tell her all my dirty laundry."

Finn laughed and shook his head. "Okay, fine. I'll keep it to myself." Leaning forward so that he could talk to Rachel in a loud, exaggerated whisper, he said, "But you really did keep him going. His injury was really, really bad."

Rachel bit her lip and nodded, dropping her hand to squeeze Noah's thigh. He put her hand on top of hers, holding it there. When she looked straight ahead, she noticed that he was tense and his eyes were on someone on the other side of the room. Following his line of sight, Rachel's eyes fell on a blonde walking from the back of the diner to the front. _Quinn. _

She seemed to sense that she was being watched because Quinn's eyes locked with Rachel's and her steps faltered for a moment before she regained her composure. She stopped at the table, her voice tight when she said, "Noah…Rachel…hello."

"Hey, Quinn," Noah answered, his fingers now digging into Rachel's thigh. Rachel patted him on the hand, silently communicating to him to relax.

"Hello, Quinn. How are you?" Rachel questioned cordially.

"I'm doing fine, thank you."

The three started at each other and then Finn, who had been watching the three with a confused look on his face, cleared his throat.

Rachel jumped. "Oh! I'm sorry! Finn Hudson, this is Quinn Fabray, a… friend." Rachel shot Noah a helpless glance before adding, "Quinn, this is Finn Hudson. He and Noah met in the hospital in England but he lives here on Long Island, too!"

Quinn turned her attention toward the handsome man and gave him her best smile. Noah knew that smile well and nearly groaned aloud because he was sure Finn would fall for it hook, line, and sinker.

"It's nice to meet you, Finn." Quinn let her eyes appraise Finn openly and Finn shifted, clearly unsure of how to handle the beautiful woman in front of him. Pulling her eyes back to Rachel and Noah after her blatant assessment of their acquaintance, Quinn said, "I suppose I'd better be leaving. It was…lovely…to see you two."

"Bye, Quinn," Noah said dismissively.

When she walked away, Finn reached across the table and punched Noah in the arm. "Puck! Was that the dame?"

"Yup," Noah said, Quinn already forgotten as he watched the waitress head toward their table with a tray full of food.

"She's…" Finn eyed the direction Quinn had gone, a faraway look in his eyes. "She's beautiful."

Rachel surveyed the look on Finn's face and had to contain her giggle, amused at how smitten he was by such a brief meeting.

When dinner was finally done and they were leaving, Rachel slipped her hand into Noah's and kissed him on the cheek as he opened her car door for her. "Noah?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"I think we need to give Quinn's telephone number to Finn."

Noah slammed the car door once he'd slid in on the driver's side and ticked an eyebrow up at Rachel. "Uh… that's… Why?"

Rachel laughed and shook her head. "Quinn was attracted to Finn, obviously! And I thought Finn's tongue was going to fall out of his mouth and roll across the floor after her once she left."

"So…you wanna play matchmaker?" Noah started the car and then looked back at Rachel, who folded her hands in her lap and smiled brightly at him. "I do, Noah. We're happy and she deserves to be happy, too."

"I don't know, Rach," Noah admitted once they were pulling onto the street. "That could be a disaster."

"Oh, Noah," Rachel shook her head. "It could also be the greatest idea I've had this week. We took a chance on love and let's let Finn do the same, okay?"

Although Noah wasn't sure, he finally shrugged. "Might as well. What can it hurt?"

Happy, Rachel sunk back into the seat and looked out the window. Quinn would forgive them yet.

* * *

_July 9, 1944_

_My dearest Samuel,_

_You left me two years ago today. I'd like to pretend that I knew the moment your life was snuffed out – that our connection was __that__ strong – but I didn't. It took a telegram from someone I've never met to let me know that life, as I knew it, was over. So much has changed in the past two years, too. I went from crushing grief to despair to acceptance to functioning to persevering. I know that, all over the world, women are enduring what I went through and I don't wish it on anyone. A lot of women aren't going to get the happy ending that I feel is coming my way. Two years ago, Sam, before you died, you told Noah to step in. And he has. He's been so wonderful, Sam. I still wonder what our future holds because nothing is set in stone yet but my instincts tell me that whatever it is, it's going to be superb. _

_Two years later, I see you in my mind and you're smiling. I see that same smile in your daughter. It makes it easier. _

_I'll always miss you and love you,_

_Rachel_

* * *

**A/N:** The film that Noah and Rachel saw was _Going My Way_. It was released in May 1944 and starred the incomparable Bing Crosby, who I adore. It won seven Academy Awards and if you're interested, it's available to watch on Netflix Instant!

**Next up**: Carolyn has a new name for Noah and Rachel gets asked an important question.


	12. July to October 1944

The last thing Rachel expected on a sunny Tuesday was to receive a call from George and Eleanor Evans requesting that they get to spend the afternoon with their granddaughter. After Rachel recovered from her shock, she packed a bag full of every necessity that a 21-month-old could possibly need, kissed her baby girl on the forehead, and waved goodbye as Carolyn happily left with her grandparents. Once she was gone, Rachel wandered around the house, a little lost at what to do since Carolyn was nearly always underfoot. After putting a stuffed duck and an oversized pig back in Carolyn's room, Rachel decided to take advantage of quiet time for once. Grabbing her beloved and oft-read copy of _Jane Eyre, _she sat down on her porch swing, tucked her legs beneath her, and opened up to where she'd last left off.

She was engrossed in the world of Jane and Edward when she spotted movement in her peripheral vision. When she looked up, Quinn was standing on the edge of Rachel's porch, her hair twisted into victory rolls and bright red lipstick on her lips. As usual, she looked stunning but Rachel was nonetheless shocked to see her.

"Uh…Quinn… hello." Rachel sat up and put her book down, her posture immediately tensing at Quinn's nearness. They hadn't seen one another since their diner encounter the previous month.

"May I talk to you?"

"Of course." Rachel motioned for the empty rocking chair. "Please, sit down."

Quinn dropped into the chair and carefully tucked her skirt around her thighs before crossing her ankles and folding her hands into her lap. Rachel watched her silently, her lip caught between her teeth. When Quinn looked up, she gave Rachel a small smile. "I'm sure you're curious as to why I'm here so I'll just get to the point…I appreciate what you tried to do."

"…Tried to do?" Rachel questioned after a moment of considering Quinn's words.

"Having Finn ring me up and ask to call on me?"

"Oh yes… that," Rachel acknowledged.

"We went to supper and he took me dancing in the city and… as much as I would _like _to have feelings for him, it's not going to happen."

Rachel stiffened. "I'm sorry that you didn't like him, Quinn."

Shaking her head, Quinn's posture relaxed slightly. "He's a wonderful man, Rachel. Handsome and funny and he seemed quite taken with me."

Furrowing her brow, Rachel cocked her head. "Then I'm not sure what the problem is?"

"He's not Noah," Quinn answered simply.

_Oh. _"Oh." Rachel glanced at the white, wooden slats on the porch, unsure of what to say as Quinn's statement hung between them. Feeling Quinn's eyes on her, Rachel looked up and boldly met her gaze, surprised to see Quinn smiling.

"I appreciate that you thought enough of me to want me to be happy with a man like Finn. I am attracted to him and I know he is to me. And perhaps, when the time is right, I'll be more receptive. But I had my heart broken and, even though it's been a while, I was accepting things as they were but then Noah came home and—" Quinn's voice caught and she swallowed. "—And try as I might to avoid it, I still care about him very, very much."

Rachel bristled, nearly positive that she was going to get into another argument with Quinn.

"I'm not here to try to win him back, Rachel," Quinn said softly, obviously watching Rachel's body language.

"You're not?" Rachel asked quietly. "I mean, I'm sorry then but I don't know why else you would visit and tell me that you're still in love with my… with Noah."

"Because," Quinn began, "when Finn called me and asked me on a date, he told me that you and Noah spoke so highly of me and that made me think. I was _horrible _to you, Rachel. I said some really mean things to you and yet you still tried to do something nice for me. Not everyone can be as forgiving as you are."

Rachel nodded, smiling slightly, and said, "I never meant to hurt you, Quinn. When Noah and I began to write regularly, I never, _ever _anticipated that I would fall in love with him or him with me."

"I know that now. It took a while and I had a lot of anger I had to work through but honestly, Noah can't help that he loves you anymore than he can help that he _doesn't _feel that way about me anymore." Quinn looked up and met Rachel's eyes. "I'm not going to sit here and pretend that I don't still love him. I _do. _I thought we'd spend our lives together and honestly, it still hurts to know that he's going to marry you instead of me."

"We're not engaged," Rachel clarified quickly.

Quinn shook her head with a sad smile. "Not yet…but you will be soon. And then you'll get married and you have another baby or two and you'll be happy and after everything you went through, you deserve it. It's just still hard for me to accept. He's… he's…" Shaking her head, Quinn corrected, "I don't have to tell you how he is, do I?"

Tears welled in Rachel's eyes as she listened to Quinn. "Thank you for coming to see me. I hope we can be friends again."

"Not yet," Quinn said. When she saw Rachel's face fall, she said, "I want to someday, yes, but I need to give my heart time. Seeing Noah, even briefly, churns up a lot of emotions that I haven't let go of yet. So hopefully someday, we can be friends again. I just wanted to say thank you for thinking of me and for introducing me to Finn. I think I've made a new friend even if he's not going to be a beau." Quinn stood and smoothed out her skirt and then added, "Not right now, anyway."

Rachel stood, too, still unsure of what to say. Finally, she stepped up to Quinn and wrapped her arms around her. Quinn stood there stiffly before giving into the hug briefly and then pulling away. Her eyes darted down and then back up at Rachel, who asked, "So what are your plans now?"

"I'm going to take a few classes at the college, actually," Quinn smiled. "And then maybe if I'm lucky, I'll meet a fabulous professor with money who will sweep me off my feet."

Rachel smiled back and nodded, "If that's what you want, I hope you get it."

"I'm discovering what I want now, slowly but surely."

A dark sedan drove past slowly and both Rachel and Quinn watched it meander down the street before Quinn finally said, "I'm going to go. I just wanted to… at least try to put things right."

Nodding, Rachel watched her friend walk down the steps and back onto the sidewalk. "Thank you, Quinn."

Smiling, Quinn gave Rachel a small wave and then headed off down the street.

* * *

_July 25, 1944_

_My dearest Samuel,_

_Quinn visited me today. I'm still so surprised about it, honestly. She's still not ready to be my friend again but I think she's forgiven both Noah and me for what happened and I cannot express the amount of relief that gives me. I miss her friendship. I miss the way she used to stop by for coffee and good conversation. I had hoped our matchmaking efforts would work with Noah's friend, Finn, but alas, that wasn't in the cards. I think I've made myself forget that Quinn loves Noah, too. I know that she's no threat to our relationship and that Noah loves me but sometimes, when Noah and I are so wrapped up in one another, it's easy to completely forget that Quinn's heart got broken in the process. I'm glad she's had time to think and I hope and pray that someday, we can be friends again. I hope she finds happiness, too. - whatever that may mean for her, anyway. _

_I miss you,_

_Rachel_

* * *

As July faded into August and the heat of the summer gripped Long Island, Rachel and Noah settled into a comfortable routine. He would come over after work to spend the evening and then, after Carolyn had been put to bed, he'd kiss Rachel senseless and groan about having to leave. Rachel would kiss him back until her heart was pounding and then pull back, press a kiss to his cheek, and bid him goodnight. It was a frustrating dance but one they both continued to do, night after night, while Noah waited for the signal from Rachel and she tried to control her desires until she knew the time was truly right.

A few times a week, he stopped by in the mornings to have breakfast with his girls before heading off to the factory and every Friday when he got paid, he put as much money as he could back for the future. Once a week, he piled Rachel and Carolyn into his sedan and they headed off to the diner for good coffee and even better pie. It was one such evening in mid-August that found them at a booth in the back corner, Carolyn between them, galloping a small plastic pony across the table while they tried to have a conversation.

"…and then my mother had the nerve to say that—" Rachel was interrupted when Carolyn let out a loud whinny and galloped her horse up her mother's arm. Rachel sighed and placed her hand over Carolyn's, stilling her movements. Looking sternly at her daughter, Rachel said, "Carolyn, I'm trying to have a conversation with Noah. You need to be quiet and respectful when adults are talking, okay?"

Carolyn was only half-listening, busy galloping her horse over the saltshaker again and again like it was climbing a mountain. Exasperated, Rachel let out a breath and leaned back in her seat, a smile on her face. Carolyn had been obsessively playing with that plastic horse since Noah had bought it at the five-and-dime store for her three days before, bringing it home and setting it in front of her while she played with her blocks. It was only a small toy - a few inches big and cheaply made – but Carolyn had radiated happiness for the rest of the night and hadn't put it down since. Rachel suspected that it had more to do with _who _had given her the toy rather than with the actual toy itself. When she glanced over, Carolyn was galloping the horse over Noah's hand, laughing when he swatted at it.

"Gimme that," he said playfully, pretending to grab at the toy.

Carolyn let out a piercing peal of laughter and then yelled, "Daddy, no! Mine!"

Rachel's mouth fell open, her eyes widening. Noah had stilled and now sat, unmoving, staring at the little girl who had resumed pushing her toy across the table as though she didn't have a care in the world. After several seconds, Noah lifted his gaze and met Rachel's. His expression was unreadable and Rachel felt a shot of nervousness flutter in her stomach as she questioned, "Noah, are you okay?"

Slowly, his lips curled into a grin and he nodded at Rachel and then bent down and kissed the top of Carolyn's head. "Yeah, doll, I'm great."

"You're…" Rachel hesitated a moment, her lip between her teeth while she chose the right words. "You're okay with what she just called you?"

Noah reached his arm out and stretched it behind Rachel on the back of the seat. He let his hand drift up her spine until his fingers curled around the back of her neck, the heat from his palm warming her all the way down to her toes. When he smiled, his face was relaxed. "Of course, Rach. It's pretty great, actually."

When the waitress sat thick pieces of pie down in front of them less than a minute later, Carolyn shoved her horse into Rachel's hand and crawled into Noah's lap. He handed her a fork and together, they made their way through all of their slice of pie and half of Rachel's. Rachel sat quietly, her face mixed with an expression of happiness and unshed tears. When Noah felt her eyes on him, he looked up and winked. Their gazes stayed locked until Carolyn patted him on the hand and ordered, "Daddy, more pie!" He grinned and Rachel watched as he turned his attention back to Carolyn. When a tear slipped down Rachel's cheek seconds later, Noah just shook his head, let out a small chuckle, and went back to sharing his pie.

* * *

His nerves were frazzled when he pulled his Plymouth to a stop in front of Rachel's house. Blowing out a heavy breath, he gripped the steering wheel and squeezed. The conversation with Walter had gone well. In fact, Shelby had looked at the box in Noah's hand, covered her mouth to muffle her gasp, and then had to excuse herself to get a handkerchief to dab at her eyes. Walter had patted him on the back and told him good luck and then Noah was out the door and on his way to Rachel's house. Now he sat there, the rain splattering against the window and leaving intricate designs as it slid down the glass. His eyes caught a drop and watched it make the long trek from the top of the glass to the bottom, the slow undulation of the water helping to calm his nerves. Once his heart was back inside his chest cavity and not beating precariously around his throat, he pushed open the door, double-checked that the box was still securely in his pocket, and then bounded up the steps.

When Noah stepped inside the house, the front room was deserted. Toys were strewn across the carpet, though, so he could tell that Carolyn was obviously having a busy day. He walked down the hall and slowed his gait when he reached the kitchen, leaning against the door jamb to watch Rachel as she washed dishes in the sink. Carolyn sat at the table, a pencil in her tiny hand and the tip of her tongue poking through her lips, very focused on drawing on the sheets of paper in front of her. The radio was on as usual and Rachel was humming along as she dunked the soapy dishes into the rinse water. When Noah shifted slightly, the floor creaked and it caught Carolyn's attention. She looked up and her eyes widened. "Daddy!"

Noah grinned, watching her climb off the chair and run to him. He picked her up and swung her until she shrieked before kissing her on the cheek and tucking her into his arm. "How's my girl today?"

"Fine! I'm drawing," she said, pointing at the paper that was full of scribbles.

By the time Noah sat down in Carolyn's vacated chair, Rachel was by his side, leaning to kiss him. "I thought you'd be here earlier," she observed after they parted.

Noah nodded nervously and said, "I had to make a stop. But I'm here now and I smell supper."

"Potatoes," Carolyn commented with authority.

Grinning at her daughter, Rachel nodded, "Yes, potatoes and roast and biscuits, actually. Oh, and pie for dessert."

"Mmm, I'm starving," Noah said, his eyes on the swell of Rachel's hips as she moved through the kitchen. Her skirt seemed extra form fitting today and he choked back a groan because Carolyn sitting on his knee and he tried to control what he said around her.

"Supper will be ready in about twenty minutes." Rachel resumed her dishes and Noah looked down at the squiggles and lines on Carolyn's piece of paper.

"What's that?" he asked, his finger on a squiggly, nondescript blob at the bottom of the page.

"It's a duck!" Carolyn giggled. Noah pointed to another blob and Carolyn answered, "A doggie." He searched the paper and, recognizing what _appeared _to be a human at the top of the page, and pointed at it. Carolyn chortled and announced, "That's Mama!"

"Where? Where am I?" Rachel asked, a smile in her voice as she spun around and walked to the table. Bending over, she placed her hand on Noah's shoulder and looked down at the piece of paper, praising Carolyn of her great artistic talent. Noah watched their interaction, his heart clenching at the way Rachel's eyes never left Carolyn's face. These two were what he wanted – no, what he _needed_.

Rachel kissed the top of Carolyn's head and then spun back around to the sink to finish her chore. Noah shifted and slid his hand into his pocket, pulling out the box. He tapped Carolyn on the shoulder and once he had her attention, put the box in her hand and whispered, "Can you give this to Mama for me?"

Carolyn beamed at the idea of doing something for Daddy and climbed from his lap, stepping across the linoleum to stop next to her mother. "Mama! Here!" Carolyn shoved the small box at Rachel, who looked down at it, her lips falling open. With wide eyes, she looked back at Noah and then took the box with one hand while wiping the other on a towel.

Her job done, Carolyn climbed back up into Noah's lap and leaned against his chest, her eyes on her mother and her thumb in her mouth. Rachel carefully opened the box and then let out a gasp before she looked at Noah, her eyes searching his face.

"I'm sorry it's taken me so long but I wanted the right ring and I wasn't gonna ask until I had it."

Rachel reached out and brushed her fingertip over the diamond. It was at least a ½ carat, emerald cut, and set on a simple, thin gold band. Her eyes clouded over and a tear fell before she looked up at him, a smile on her face.

"So…uh… yeah…" He stood up, holding tightly to Carolyn, and moved to put his arm around Rachel. "I'm not good at this but…will you? Marry me, I mean?"

Rachel nodded quietly and leaned up to kiss him. Carolyn squawked and pushed her mother away and curled possessively into Noah's chest, which made both of them laugh. Noah took the box from her and held it so that she could remove the ring and slip it onto her finger before extending her hand to admire it as it shimmered in the light of the kitchen.

"I love it, Noah, thank you. And yes, nothing would make me happier than to marry you." Rachel and Noah locked eyes, his heart pounding so loudly inside his chest that it made him lose his breath. Rachel ignored Carolyn's protests at being squished and wrapped her arms around Noah's neck, taking his mouth in a silent and heartfelt thank you. When they parted, Rachel wiped at her eyes and then looked at Carolyn. "It's time for supper, young lady. Daddy, will you take her to wash up?"

Grinning, Noah nodded. "C'mon, kiddo. Let's go wash those hands and then we'll eat. And Carolyn, what comes after supper if you're good?"

"Pie!" Carolyn squealed as they walked through the door toward the bathroom. Rachel watched them go, her heart so full that she could barely breathe. Turning back toward the sink, she reached for the clean dishes. It was time to feed her family. She paused for a moment, the strength of such a single word swooping through her, wrapping around her heart. _Family. _A happy shiver ran through her and then, grinning so hard that her face ached, she began to dip up supper.

…

Carolyn was asleep on Noah's lap when they decided to put her to bed. Even though it was just past 8pm, she'd been sleeping in his lap for nearly a half-hour while they listened to the radio. Once she was tucked beneath the blankets, her stuffed pig wrapped in her arms, Rachel and Noah slipped from Carolyn's room. In the hall, Noah quickly stepped in front of Rachel, sliding his hands along her hips and then backing her up until she was caught between his larger frame and the wall. She sighed in pleasure when he nipped his way along her jawbone before finally gliding his lips against hers. A slick, hot stab of desire pulsated through her body and she tilted her head back, allowing him to run his lips along her neck before she whispered, "Noah."

"I know," he said against her lips. "I'm stopping." He pulled back and exhaled, threading his fingers through his hair as he worked to push down the heat pooling inside of him. When Rachel bit her lip and extended her hand, intertwining their fingers, he took it without thinking. It wasn't until they passed the door to the sitting room and she pulled him into the bedroom that his eyes widened with unspoken questions. She turned and smiled at him, her face awash with visible nervousness. He quickly let go of her hand and carded his fingers into her hair, kissing her hard. With a quiet thud, the door closed, effectively shutting off the world around them.

…

"S'really coming down out there," Noah murmured. Next to him, Rachel nodded and let out a little humming noise, closing her eyes and tucking her face into his neck.

Thunder cracked in the distance and Rachel jumped slightly. Noah tightened his arm around her and tugged the blankets up higher over their bodies. "I hope the storm doesn't wake Carolyn up," Rachel said softly. "I'm not ready to move yet."

A contented silence settled over the room, both of them listening to the rain hit the windowpanes. After a moment, Noah turned his head and dragged his lips over Rachel's forehead before asking, "Are you okay?"

"Mhmm," Rachel answered sleepily. "I'm fabulous, actually."

Noah's eyes drifted closed just as another crack of lightning made Rachel jump again. Chuckling, Noah tugged her until she was practically lying on top of him. "Stop jumping," he ordered, kissing her nose.

Rachel buried her face in his neck and inhaled deeply. "You smell like soap," she observed before pressing her lips against his throat.

"S'because I had a feeling I was gonna get lucky tonight so I washed up before I came over."

"Noah!" Rachel playfully protested, smacking his arm. He reached up and grabbed her hand, winding their fingers together and tucking them against his thigh.

Opening his eyes, he looked at her. "What?" he asked innocently. "I had a hunch, okay? It's not every day a guy asks a pretty dame to be his wife."

Rachel stretched until her lips met his. When she pulled away, she tucked her head back against his neck and asked, "Was that okay? I mean, it wasn't bad or anything, was it?"

"What?" His voice was incredulous. "Why would you ask something like that?"

"Because," Rachel said, her lips muffled against his skin, "that's the first time I've done that in…quite a while." Lifting her head, she propped it up on her arm and met his eyes. "And your reputation precedes you, Noah Puckerman. I've heard the girls talk. I know you're…practiced. You have lots of girls to compare me to and I've only ever ha—"

"-Babydoll, shut up," Noah interjected.

"Rude," Rachel countered, laughing against his neck.

Noah let go of her hand to wind both of his arms around her, pulling her tightly to him. He tucked his head and nuzzled his nose against her ear, smiling when she shivered and clutched at his shoulders with her fingers.

"Don't compare yourself to anybody, okay?" Rachel didn't answer so Puck squeezed his arms around her. "Okay?" he asked again. "Because, yeah, I've been with a few gals but none of them..._none _of them, baby, were the woman I'm gonna spend the rest of my life loving. That puts you in an _entirely_ different league."

Rachel lifted her head from his neck again, her eyes watery when she met his gaze. "I love you," she said softly. "I never thought I'd find love once, let alone twice. But I love you, Noah. I love you so much."

A tear trickled down her cheek and Noah moved to quickly wipe it away, shaking his head. "Why the tears?"

"They're happy tears, I promise."

The rain picked up and another crack of thunder echoed through the house. Rachel groaned and said, "I know Carolyn's going to wake up. There's no way she can sleep through this."

Noah tightened his arms around Rachel and rolled them until she was tucked beneath him. Pushing her hair from her face, he kissed her and then slid down into the blankets next to her. "Sleep, Rachel. If she wakes up, I'll go get her, okay?"

Rachel closed her eyes, barely nodding. "You spoil me, Noah."

"I've barely even started yet, doll," he promised, his eyes closing. "Besides, she's kinda almost my kid, too, right?"

Smiling into the darkness, Rachel whispered a soft, "Right," in response before succumbing to sleep.

* * *

Rachel told herself that her second wedding shouldn't be anything to fret over. Unlike her first wedding, which had been held at the local hall and followed immediately by a large reception, the second one would be small and understated. Rachel knew that, even though she'd been a widow for over two years, some still viewed her with disdain because she was remarrying already. Noah had also made it very clear when he told her he didn't want a big wedding. "The smaller, the better," he'd told her. Shelby, though, insisted that they hold the wedding in the sitting room of the Berry's house because it could hold a decent amount of people and could also host the reception. Miriam had been slightly disappointed that Rachel and Noah had decided not to get married at the synagogue but once Rachel assured her that the ceremony was still being performed by Rabbi Lehmann, she'd relaxed considerably. She and Shelby had equally divided up the responsibility; Shelby would handle the decorating and organizing of the home while Miriam prepared the food to be served. Despite the fact that her mother and her future mother-in-law were handling the bulk of the details, Rachel still found herself caught in the dreaded internal battle of "what to wear." She was _certainly _not going to be wearing white again and silk was hard to come by, most of it allocated to the war effort instead of the clothing industry.

On a Friday afternoon in September after Noah got off work, Rachel cajoled him into taking her into Manhattan to go dress shopping.

"Babe," he'd protested, "we're supposed to have supper with Finn, remember?"

"Bring him with us!"

That was how Finn ended standing on a Manhattan street with Noah while Rachel she found herself in a dress shop, hopeful that something would appeal to her.

"You nervous?" Finn asked, his eyes on the moving traffic.

"Nope," Noah answered easily. "Not in the least. Can't happen soon enough, honestly. Sleeping in my mom's house is killing me. I…uh… still don't get to spend the night," he said, casting a glance toward the door to the dress shop to make sure Rachel wasn't about to walk out. "And climbing out of her bed after I've already been _in _it is killing me."

Finn laughed and shook his head. "You're still ahead of me, buddy. Since the whole 'Quinn thing', I've only gone on one other date and I can promise you, I haven't made it anywhere near _anybody's _bedroom."

"How long's it been?"

Snorting, Finn said, "Too damn long, man, too damn long."

Noah thought for a moment and said, "Quinn's not the only dame Rachel knows, ya know. She knows a lot of girls from the USO and from the Red Cross and not _all _of them are married. You want her to try to work her magic again?"

Finn's eyes widened and he paused, cocking his head to the side. When he shook his head, finally, he was grinning, "Yeah, why not?"

Both mean turned toward the door when they heard it creak open and then Rachel stepped out of the dress shop, a garment bag draped over her arm. Smiling at the two men, she said, "I've got the dress! Now let's go eat!"

Noah offered Rachel his arm and she took it, linking hers through his as they walked toward the car, Finn trailing slightly behind. "Hey, babe," he said. "Finn here wants you to try your skills at matchmaking again."

Rachel nearly skidded to a stop and then turned toward Finn. "Really?" she asked excitedly.

"Yeah, might as well," he shrugged.

With a mischievous glint in her eye, Rachel bounced up on her toes and kissed Finn's cheek. "Excellent!"

Laughing, the men followed her as she practically skipped back to the car.

* * *

The night before the wedding, Miriam insisted that Rachel allow Carolyn to spend the night at her house. She'd already farmed Noah out at Finn's for the night so that she could work on the wedding cake without him seeing it. "Besides," she'd argued, "Sarah can babysit her niece and you can have a relaxing, restful sleep. After tomorrow, Noah's going to be underfoot constantly so you might as well get your rest while you can."

With such a compelling argument, Rachel had agreed and had packed her daughter off with a bag full of toys and the frilly dress she'd wear at the wedding. After dinner, Noah had called her from Finn's just to check on her and then they'd said their goodnights, both of them nervous about the impending ceremony.

Rachel took a long bath in her claw-footed tub, relaxing with the sound of the radio filtering into the room from down the hall. Afterward, she'd brushed out her hair, pinned it atop her head, and brewed herself a cup of tea. She wandered through the house, mug in hand, while her mind flashed with memories like a picture show. Snippets of childhood with Noah, the first time she met Sam, losing Sam, realizing she loved Noah – it all came back to her in the quiet of the house. When she walked over to the bookshelf, she leveled her eyes on the wedding picture that was kept there. She and Sam were smiling brightly at the camera, happiness in their eyes. Her heart clenched because, despite everything that had happened, she still loved Sam. She always would. But she let her mind travel to Noah and her heart swelled with emotion. Tomorrow she'd marry him and she _could not wait. _

Walking into the kitchen, she turned the radio on and, with the joint sounds of Frank Sinatra and Tommy Dorsey to keep her company, she took out her journal. It was nearly full now, only a few blank pages left. She flipped through the pages slowly, reading phrases here and there, smiling at her words. Once she got to the first blank page, she grabbed her pen and, after smoothing her hand over the paper, began to write one last entry.

_October 7, 1944 _

_My dearest Samuel,_

_This letter is both an ending and a beginning. By this time tomorrow, I'll be Mrs. Rachel Puckerman. It's hard to believe that I'm marrying Noah in the morning. He's only been home less than six months but I think I knew, even before he got on that troop ship to come home to me, that I'd become his wife if he asked. I love him so much, Sam. I've known him for as long as I can remember and I think he's always been special to me. Never in a million years did I fathom that he and I would one day wed, though. Then again, never did I imagine that I'd find an amazing love with you and then lose you so soon after our lives began together. _

_I'm reminiscent tonight, thinking about how I felt before our wedding. I'm much calmer this time around and I don't know if that's because I'm older and wiser or just because things are different this time. You and I were young and wide-eyed, innocent and hopeful. I think that's what we needed then. It was before the war and before the entire world seemed to shift and upend. With Noah, I think I'm much more realistic. Becoming a widow and a single mother taught me a lot about becoming an even stronger person than I was before. For the longest time after you died, I was terrified that I wouldn't make it. I couldn't imagine living a life that you weren't a part of. My whole goal, I think, was just to get by and live each day trying to ignore the pain. But then you sent me Noah and he made me see a lot of things that I wasn't ready to see. The war has changed both of us, Sam. Noah's definitely changed, having seen things that he won't even talk about. He saw his best friend die and that has to change a man. He's still the same man - his character has remained intact - that he was before he went away to fight but there's a maturity in his eyes that, I don't think, would exist had he not lived through what he did. And he loves me, Sam. He loves me so much that I can't even think about it without tearing up. He also adores Carolyn. I couldn't ask for a more amazing father than what he is to her. She loves him and her little face lights up the moment he walks into the room. And I promise, Sam, that you're not going to be forgotten. Carolyn is going to know all about you and what you did for us and for this world when you went off to fight and died. That, I think, is what makes everything even more perfect. I'm not living my life without you. You're still very much present in our daughter. And I can't help but feel like you approve of my union with Noah. I honestly don't think your dying wish would have been for him to take care of Carolyn and I had you not known what could become of that. Noah says that he had feelings for me for a long time before I ever met and married you and I often wonder if you were aware of that. I'll never know, of course, so I can only speculate but your actions tell me that you knew Noah would be the perfect partner for me so for that, I say thank you. Thank you for the love that you gave me, the life that we shared, the daughter that we created together, and the man you sent to me before you left this world. You've done nothing but make me happy from the moment I met you and that legacy will live on in the love I now share with Noah. _

_Always,_

_Rachel_

* * *

**Next up**: an epilogue.


	13. Epilogue July 9, 1954

**_Epilogue_**

**_

* * *

_**

"Susanna, for the last time, leave me _alone_ before I clobber your stupid face!"

Rachel heard the threat from her older daughter and the shriek from her younger one all the way in the bedroom and quickly dropped her shoes back on the floor, padding over the plush carpet in her bare feet and into the room shared by her daughters. The three-year-old, Susanna, froze, her finger's still wrapped around her eleven-year-old sister's wrist. "What's going on in here?"

Carolyn glared at her little sister and complained, "Like always, she won't leave me alone. How am I supposed to write this letter if she won't go away, Mommy?" Her voice climbed the longer she spoke and by the time she'd finished, she was whining.

Rachel dropped her hand on her slim hip and shook her head, pointing at Susanna. "_You_, young lady, need to go bother your Daddy and your brothers. Your sister has something she needs to do, okay?"

Susanna dropped her head like a chastised puppy, her dark brown curls pooling around her shoulders, and then shuffled out of the room toward the front of the hotel suite they were staying in to find her father. Sitting down on the bed next to the small writing desk, Rachel crossed her ankles and stared at Carolyn, who was now looking intently at her half-filled sheet of paper while tapping her pen against her chin. "I don't know what to say, Mommy. I mean, I have a lot to say but it's hard to figure out what I should say and what I should leave out."

"Well, baby, why don't you just write what you feel comfortable with, okay? You can say whatever it is that you want. This is a letter to your Dad and nobody will read it so you can say whatever is in your heart."

Carolyn nodded, her eyes thoughtful as she glanced at the worn journal sitting next to her papers. "I finished reading it this morning. You wrote a lot of letters to him back then."

"I did," Rachel said with a gentle smile. "After he died, it was how I coped. I missed him so much and it seemed like the best way for me to deal with how sad I was. And I was nervous about becoming your mommy so the letters made it better."

"But Daddy gave you the idea," Carolyn clarified.

"I know. He wanted me to feel better, honey. His idea was a good one."

Carolyn stuck the top of her pen in her mouth and tapped it against her front teeth before looking back at Rachel. "Why was the last letter you wrote him the night before you married Daddy? Why didn't you write him anymore after that?"

Rachel leaned back on the bed, propping herself up on her elbows, her eyes on the ceiling. "Well, Carolyn, I think that I was ready to move forward with my life and I knew that Sam was going to live on through you. Besides, as a new bride with a two-year-old, I was quite busy. And then not too long after we got married, we had Tommy and then we had Jack and _then _we had Susanna I've been too busy cleaning up after you all since then to write any letters to anybody!"

Neither of them spoke for a moment before Carolyn asked, "Mommy? Can I keep the journal? I know it's yours but I…" Her voice faded and she looked curiously at her mother, who stood up and stepped behind her chair, bending to hug her.

"Of course, baby, it's yours now." Rachel smoothed her hands over her daughter's shoulders, squeezing them in her fingers before releasing her.

"Thanks," Carolyn said softly, her mind whirring with what she wanted to write.

In the hallway, Noah listened to the conversation between his wife and daughter for a moment. When they paused and silence fell between them, he stepped into the room. "Girls? Are we about ready to leave?"

Rachel turned and smiled at her husband, slipping her arm around his waist when he walked up to her. Noah dropped his arm across her shoulder and kissed the top of her head, his eyes on his oldest child. "How's it coming, sweets?"

Carolyn glanced over her shoulder, her voice slightly exasperated when she answered, "I'm halfway done, Daddy. I just need some peace and quiet to finish it."

Noah chuckled at Carolyn's attitude and ticked his eyebrow up at his wife, who smiled and lifted up on her toes to kiss his jaw before she told Carolyn, "Baby, we're going to leave you alone. We'll be in the sitting room. Let us know when you're done and we'll go."

Carolyn nodded wordlessly, her focus already back on her paper. She _had_ to finish this letter.

…

Noah was surprised at how little the area had changed in the twelve years since he'd been there. The cemetery was nearly untouched except for the dozen more tombstones or so that were scattered throughout the small, green space. The oak tree, which was already large when Noah had seen it back in 1942, now towered over the entire cemetery, keeping most of the graves in the shade all the time.

The Puckerman family quietly made their way through the expanse of grass and stone markers, Noah slowing down as the approached the base of the tree. Rachel's eyes landed on the familiar white stone marker topped with a cross that signified an American military grave. She let her gaze glide over the name "Evans" and her eyes filled with tears, her heart pounding somewhere in the vicinity of her throat. She couldn't believe that after all this time and all these years, she was finally standing _here, _staring at Sam's grave. She stood silently, one hand in her husband's and the other holding onto the hand of her quiet seven-year-old, Jack. Her eight-year-old son, Tommy, stood a few feet away, his fingers linked with Susanna's, who was fidgeting with her tights irritably. Quiet settled over the family until Carolyn stepped up next to Noah and slipped her small hand into his larger one and looked up at him. "What do we do, Daddy? Do we say something?"

Noah glanced at his daughter and squeezed his hand. "If you're comfortable, you can."

Her eyes darted to her mother, who gave her a reassuring smile before she stepped forward slightly, not letting go of Noah's hand. "Hi, Sam. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get here. I honestly never thought I would but thanks to Noah, here we are. I've…" Rachel paused, her eyes on the rustling branches that hung right above their heads. A few birds chirped in short, staccato peeps before they flew off and the cemetery settled into silence again. "I've never forgotten you, you know. I think about you all the time and I see you in Carolyn so much. She laughs like you and when she's thinking, she makes some of the same faces you used to make. And you'd be happy to know that I'm doing great, Sam." Rachel glanced at Noah and tightened her grip on his hand before looking back down at the grave. "I'm fantastic, honestly. I couldn't ask to be any better."

Stepping back, Rachel slid herself against Noah, winding her arms around his waist. He wrapped his arm around her and let his fingers dance across her side absently.

Carolyn caught her lip between her teeth and then glanced up at her father before stepping forward, her eyes on the name on the marker. "Hi, Dad. I don't really know what to say but I wrote you a letter." Letting go of Noah's hand, Carolyn carefully stepped up to the grave and put the letter, neatly folded inside a white envelope and with "Dad" written on the front of it, carefully in the grass so that it leaned against the marker. When she looked back at her father, Noah motioned her to him and she stepped back quickly toward him, pressing her face against his abdomen and curling her fingers around his hand again. He bent and kissed her forehead before he looked at the grave and cleared his throat.

"Uh, hey buddy. I… I always wanted to come back but the years got away from me. But we're here… we finally made it. I—" He shot a nervous smile at Rachel, clearly uncomfortable at being somewhat unguarded with his words before he continued. "I just want to say thanks, Sam. When you asked me to watch out for Rachel and Carolyn, you did it because you were worried about them. But in the end, I think you gave me more than I could have ever asked for and I hope that in the years since, I've made you proud. I think I've done a pretty good job."

Tears silently slid down Rachel's cheeks as she listened to her husband speak and when he was finished, they all stood ramrod still, lost in their own memories. When Susanna broke free of Tommy's hand after a few minutes, letting out a peal of laughter as she darted back towards the front of the cemetery, the quiet reverence was broken. Noah surveyed his family and then asked, "Are we ready to go?"

Carolyn, Tommy, and Jack all nodded, their mother's stern lecture about being quiet and respectful in cemeteries still ringing in their ears. Turning, the family made their way back through the cemetery and out the gate. Noah darted after Susanna, who was laughing as the wind sent her skirt flying skyward. The children climbed into the car and Rachel and Noah both cast one last glance toward Sam's grave before settling inside the vehicle. Reaching across the small space, Rachel placed her hand on Noah's and they locked eyes. Leaning forward, she brushed her lips over his, silently thanking him before settling back into her seat for the ride back to their hotel.

…

_July 9, 1954_

_Dear Dad,_

_I know you'll never read this but Mommy wrote you letters after you died and when I was a baby and I decided I wanted to write you one since we came all the way to England to visit your grave. Daddy saved up money for __two years__ so we could all come over here and we got to ride in a plane! I was scared but Tommy and I didn't cry like Susanna and Jack did. You probably don't know who they are so I'll tell you: Tommy, Jack, and Susanna are my little brothers and my little sister. Because I'm the oldest, I get to babysit a lot. Don't tell Mommy and Daddy but I don't really mind even if I pretend that I do._

_Even though I've never met you, I know __all__ about you. Daddy has been telling me stories about you since I was old enough to understand. I was confused when I was little because he's my daddy but he explained that you are, too. He told me how, right before you died when you were in the war, you asked him to watch out for Mommy and me, even though I wasn't born yet. I think that was really nice because Daddy has done a great job. He doesn't treat me like I'm not really his daughter and when I asked him why one time, he said it was because I __am__ his daughter in all the ways that count. He told me about how I started calling him Daddy when I was really little and how he loves me like he's the one that put me in Mommy's belly. He loves all of us just the same so I really don't feel different from everybody else. He's a good Daddy, too. He works hard at the factory and he's the production manager now (I really don't know what that means. He explained it once but I got bored listening.) He's at work a lot but he comes home for lunch every day and he always makes sure he's home in time for supper. Some of my classmates think he can be kind of mean but I think that's because he likes to cross his arms and make scary faces when the boys try to come and play with me. (He says I'm so pretty that it's dangerous. I don't know what that means, really, but maybe that's why the boys all seem afraid to come play at our house? I don't want to be dangerous but all the boys are stupid anyway so it's okay.)_

_We have a good life, Dad. Daddy just bought us a television set about two months ago and it's really swell. My favorite program is I Love Lucy. Mommy says that television is going to ruin the world but I think she's silly. She says she will always want to listen to the radio instead and she only lets us watch two programs a night before she turns it off and makes us go play. I caught her and Daddy watching it once after we went to bed so I think she's just being stingy._

_Mommy is a singer now. When you knew her, she was a secretary but now she sings! She doesn't get to do it very much because we keep her busy but sometimes, she goes into the city and sings on stage with a whole orchestra behind her! Daddy took me to see her once and the whole place was full of people and they all clapped for her. I was so proud of her and Daddy was, too. She says when we all get a little bit older, she's going to try to do it more because it makes her happy._

_Uncle Finn comes around a lot. You never met him but he's Daddy's best friend now that you're gone. They met in the war after Daddy got hurt. Uncle Finn loves to bring us candy and cookies and then Mommy yells at him for it but it never stops him from doing it again. He's got a new lady friend named Tina and I really like her. She one of Aunt Quinn's friends and she looks exotic, like she's from another country, and Daddy said he thinks Uncle Finn is going to marry her. He says that Uncle Finn is a big dope and doesn't know when he's got a good thing but that he thinks that Tina might be just what he needs. I hope! I haven't been in a wedding in six years! The last time I got to wear a pretty dress and walk down the aisle was when Aunt Quinn got married. I know she's not really my aunt but she's like an aunt because she's at our house all the time. She's got a baby in her belly right now and so Uncle Artie makes her stay home a lot. Mommy said that you grew up with Uncle Artie so I don't have to tell you who he is, either. He gives us rides in his wheelchair and he told me a bunch of stories about you from when you and him were little kids. You did some really stupid things when you were my age, Dad. Daddy says that you were an angel compared to how bad he was but then he refuses to tell me about what he used to do. He told me that I have to wait until I'm older but I'll probably just ask Grandma Miriam because she loves to tell me goofy things about Daddy when he's not around._

_I spent the night at Grandma Eleanor and Grandpa George's house the other night and sometimes when Mommy and Daddy say they need time alone, we all go stay with Grandma Shelby and Grandpa Walter. I have more grandparents than any of my friends but that just means I get more birthday and Hanukah presents. _

_My hand is hurting and everybody is waiting on me to leave to go to your grave so I'm going to end this letter now. I really just wanted to write you like Mommy used to so I could say thank you. I know I've never met you but I know all about you and what a hero you were. Mommy says that you loved me enough before I was even born that you sent Daddy to us to make sure that we would always be happy. So I'm actually writing to say thanks for that, Dad, because we are happy. Really, really, __really__ happy._

_Love,_

_Carolyn_

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you ALL for reading and reviewing. I'm happy you came on this journey with me!


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